Our journey back to the academy was smooth, and during that quiet flight through the sky, I discovered something unexpected—a new benefit of reaching Foundation Establishment.
I could fly.
Not the temporary, Qi-draining way of using the Grabbing Shallow technique, which always felt like balancing on a thin thread over a pit. No—this was true flight. Natural, swift, and efficient. It cost barely any Qi, and I could travel farther and faster than ever before.
Clara flew beside me, silent, her eyes scanning the horizon with sharp vigilance. Even now, she remained cautious, alert to any possible threats. But to our luck, nothing dangerous crossed our path. The skies remained peaceful, and the land below offered no surprises.
We returned safely to my room, where we finally allowed ourselves a moment of rest. The tension of the past few days slowly faded as we entered the quiet sanctuary of my space.
---
Far away, in a palace surrounded by moonlight and luxury, the Empress had just finished bathing. Draped in a silk robe, she stood before a floating crystal orb that pulsed faintly with golden light. Within it, two figures appeared—panting slightly, returning from their journey.
Her gaze sharpened with curiosity, eyes narrowing like a cat watching prey. There was amusement in her look, even a bit of delight, but also a flicker of suspicion, as if she'd just caught someone in the middle of an affair.
Not that she was truly angry. After all, Clara had been assigned to protect and watch over him within the academy. That much was expected.
But then she heard something—something that shifted her expression instantly.
Clara's voice came through the orb: "From now on, call me 'My Love' in public."
The Empress's eyes froze. The warmth vanished, replaced by a cold gleam of restrained fury. Her lips curled slightly, and a crackle of pressure filled the air around her. She heard him submit—willingly—and nod without resistance.
Her power stirred, cracking the air as if reality itself shuddered under her displeasure. And yet, she calmed herself quickly. There were more pressing matters at hand. Her cultivation schedule awaited, and she still had delicate political negotiations with other kingdoms to manage.
Still, that scene played in her mind longer than she liked to admit.
---
Back in the quiet of my room, I laid down on the bed, exhausted but oddly satisfied. Clara, ever smug, simply sat beside me with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Hmm, remember our deal? Three wishes, right?" Her voice danced with teasing amusement.
I groaned internally, knowing those three wishes were destined to torment me. "Yeah… I remember," I muttered with a resigned nod.
She leaned closer, the smirk never leaving her face. "Well, I won't use the last two just yet. But for the first one…" She paused dramatically, eyes sparkling like a child about to unwrap a long-awaited gift. "From now on, in public—you'll call me My Love."
I stared at her, horrified. A premonition of social disaster loomed over me like a thundercloud.
She grinned wider, clearly enjoying my distress.
But I nodded. What else could I do? A deal was a deal.
With a wink that sparkled with playful menace, she rose and walked toward the door with the grace of a dancer. Her retreating figure left behind a trail of smug satisfaction—and a very annoyed me.
I sighed, choosing instead to focus on the one good thing: I had finally reached Foundation Establishment.
But even that wasn't simple.
Foundation Establishment had six stages. Sounds manageable, right?
Wrong.
Each of those stages contained two inner layers—hidden challenges and intricate refinements. So, in truth, there were twelve layers, not six. Twelve layers of hell. And I was planning to achieve a perfect foundation.
Just thinking about it gave me a headache.
But I had no time to complain. I closed my eyes, letting time pass slowly, one breath at a time.
---
The next morning arrived quietly.
We had skipped classes for two days straight. Most students didn't seem to notice—except Irish. Her sharp eyes didn't miss anything. But what caught even more attention was Clara's absence.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
The beautiful transfer student, suddenly missing? People whispered that the infamous womanizer—me—must have done something unforgivable. Some claimed Clara had been hurt or taken advantage of. Concern and judgment filled the air.
But Irish… Irish saw through it.
She remembered Clara's confident posture, her calm gaze. Clara didn't look like someone being preyed upon.
No—I did.
She remembered the tension in my shoulders, the unease I carried whenever Clara was nearby. Her heart stirred with worry.
That morning, as Clara opened the classroom door, dozens of eyes turned to her. Questions came like arrows.
"Why were you gone?"
"Did that guy hurt you?"
"Are you okay?"
Clara smiled sweetly, unfazed. "It's nothing like that," she replied with practiced grace. "Just a small mission from the headmaster. Nothing to worry about."
Everyone bought the lie.
Everyone except Irish.
She watched Clara closely, her eyes soft but probing.
Just then, I entered the classroom.
No one looked at me.
And if they did, it was with disgust.
Fiona and Gab, seated nearby, also showed concern—but only for Clara. They asked her more questions, which she answered with the same fake story, hiding the truth behind a veil of innocence.
Irish, however, ignored everyone else. Her gaze locked onto me, filled with concern.
"You skipped class for two days," she said, pouting slightly. "What happened?"
Her voice was soft, but it pierced straight through me. The way her lips puffed in frustration, the hint of worry in her eyes—it stabbed right into my chest.
I looked away, trying to calm myself. "It's nothing serious," I lied, weaving a tale of sudden training and extra responsibilities.
She didn't buy it.
She sat beside me anyway, stubbornly curious. Meanwhile, Clara slipped into the seat beside me, her smile wicked and knowing.
"Hmm… Marquel?" she said smoothly.
I knew what she wanted.
My voice lowered, audible only to the two girls beside me. "Yes, My Love?" I answered, voice dripping with fake affection.
My acting skills were reaching new heights.
Clara blinked, genuinely surprised. For a second, she almost believed I meant it.
And Irish…
Her jaw dropped. Her innocent mind raced to the only conclusion she could imagine: They've already kissed.
She pouted, visibly upset—but still so adorable it made my heart ache.
Yet beneath that cuteness was a storm of irritation and jealousy.
She wanted answers.
And I had no idea how to explain this madness without getting stabbed by both girls at once.