The music started again as Colt escorted Seila to the center of the hall. The crowd parted naturally, creating a path for them.
They began to dance, slowly and in sync.
"Do you know how to dance, Colt?" Seila asked, her voice soft but curious.
Normally, commoners didn't learn to dance. It simply wasn't part of their world.
But Colt had taken the time to learn to be able to escort Seila back in his past life. So he nodded.
Around them, others began to join in. Hei and Myrin, and many more stepped onto the floor.
"By the way," Colt said, glancing at her as they moved, "I don't think anyone's mentioned it yet. But you look beautiful tonight, Lady Seila."
Her cheeks flushed, though her expression stayed composed. "You're actually the second. Myrin already beat you to it."
They both smiled.
"You're full of surprises, you know," she said. "The gifts, the dancing...
Let me ask you one last time—and if you give me the same answer again, I promise I won't bring it up ever again.
You're not secretly a noble from another country, are you?"
Colt smiled. "I promise, I'm nothing more than a commoner. If I were a noble, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops... just to have a real chance."
They both knew what he meant by "a real chance". But Seila didn't answer. The answer would just hurt him.
She simply continued dancing with him, hand in hand.
They stayed close enough to feel each other's breath, moving together, until the music came to an end.
---
The celebration came to an end, and the nobles slowly dispersed. But the night's events didn't fade with the music.
They lingered—clinging to every mind present like a whisper too loud to ignore.
By the following morning, a quiet frenzy had begun.
Everyone wanted to know: Who was this Colt?
It wasn't just idle curiosity. There were layers to the confusion—layers that didn't make sense.
First, the gifts. A unique spell and a royal badge.
Technically, neither required wealth. A unique spell could be self-made.
And the royal badge hadn't been bought, but gifted—though that fact alone made it more alarming.
Both items could easily be converted into power, money, or favors. Either one would've made him wealthier than any commoner in Ostines.
Combined, they made him a walking mystery.
But those weren't even the main problem.
No, the true source of the chaos was the necklace.
A ten percent boost to mana training.
That number rippled through noble circles like a stone hurled into still water.
One percent would have been enough to start a bidding war between academies, noble houses, even the royal family itself.
Five percent would have been classified as a national treasure—sealed, researched, and protected under royal decree.
But ten?
Ten percent wasn't just valuable. It was dangerous.
An artifact that powerful could shift the balance of magical power across the entire kingdom. No commoner should have access to something like that.
No noble, for that matter. It was the kind of thing kings kept hidden, the kind of thing wars started over.
Yet Colt had handed it over with a casual tone and an unreadable smile, as if he were giving away an old trinket collecting dust.
Even the king received letters that very night. Inquiries cloaked in polite language but demanding in tone.
Who was this boy? Where had he come from? Who was backing him?
The king hesitated at first.
But once multiple trusted high-ranking nobles requested the same thing, he relented—cautiously.
Colt's information was released, selectively, and only to those within the king's inner circle.
Not that it mattered.
The first prince didn't bother waiting for royal approval. He had his own network, his own methods. Before dawn, he already had the file in his hands.
And what they all discovered was simple. Stark. Inexplicable.
Colt was, without question, a commoner. No family name. No noble blood. No connections.
No record of mentorship from a high-level mage, no hidden sponsorship, no hints of foreign nobility in disguise.
By all accounts, he was just another academy student.
He wasn't supposed to be a big deal.
But now... no one could pretend otherwise.
***
"Father, I've come as requested," the second prince said, bowing before the king.
"Antoine. Good," the king said. "Asher is already here, so we can begin. Everyone else, leave the room."
The advisors and guards filed out in silence, leaving only the two princes and the king.
The atmosphere shifted.
"Antoine," the king said slowly, "is it true? Did you lose a bet to a commoner and give away a royal promise?"
His voice wasn't angry. Not yet. But Antoine wasn't fooled.
The wrong answer would be enough to ignite his father's fury.
"Father, I..." Antoine hesitated, his voice faltering.
That was answer enough.
But to his surprise, the king didn't shout. He let out a long sigh instead.
"How many times have I warned you not to underestimate others?"
Even Asher raised an eyebrow. It wasn't like their father to stay calm in situations like this. But then he understood. Faster than Antoine did.
The king continued, "Do you know who he is?"
Antoine shook his head. "All information about him is classified. I couldn't find anything."
Another wrong answer. A future king should know how to work around barriers like that. And the king knew Antoine wanted to be a king.
The king made no comment, but the silence said enough. Still, today wasn't about lecturing Antoine.
"Twenty years ago," the king began, "we sent a spy into the Tona Kingdom."
Tona. A small kingdom just beyond Ostines' border. Politically unstable. Easy to infiltrate, but dangerous once inside.
"The spy was a commoner," the king continued, "so we didn't keep a close eye on him. Fifteen years ago, he went missing."
Antoine's expression darkened. Everyone in the room knew what that meant.
Missing didn't mean dead. Not for spies.
It meant captured. It meant interrogation. It meant torture.
And with the kind of magic in Arte, the cycle would never end. Heal. Break. Heal again. Repeat.
Even now, the man might still be alive. If you could call that living.
"And this boy—Colt," the king said at last. "He's apparently his son."
Of course, even though all the background information checked out, there was still the possibility that Colt was a spy.
Or worse—he really could be the son of that captured spy, but had chosen to work for the enemy in exchange for his father's life.
But either way, he had returned to Ostines, his homeland. And from what they'd seen, he wasn't just any student.
He was a top-tier talent. The best among the first-years.
"Antoine," the king said, his tone level but firm, "I know you hate losing. But don't overstep. He could become a valuable asset to Ostines."
It was clear he was considering sponsoring Colt, a commoner, just as he had done with Seila.
Asher had realized that much from the start, but he still asked the obvious question. "What if he is a spy?"
"Then we'll know. He'll be watched closely," the king said. He didn't need to say more. They both knew he already had eyes in the academy.
"Yes, Father," Asher replied.
Antoine, meanwhile, stood stiffly. He was being told—clearly—not to seek revenge.
And that burned more than anything.
Sure, he could still challenge Colt in the academy. That much was allowed. But even that path felt less certain now.
Colt had beaten 21 and 22. He'd even bested Cecilia, their instructor, and Charles Maguire, a fourth-year student.
Still, Antoine reminded himself, each of those victories had a reason.
Against Kael, Colt had taken advantage of his berserk state.
Against Cecilia, she hadn't used a staff and had allowed him time to cast.
Against Charles, he had ambushed him.
Against Marcus, it had been a weaponless duel, and Colt turned out to be physically strong.
But physical strength didn't mean everything. Especially in a real battle with weapons. And Antoine was sure he had the upper hand there.
No, even if it was another duel without weapons, Antoine trusted his strength. Even so, he couldn't defy a direct order from the king.
"Understood, Father," he said.
But his mind was already racing, building new strategies.
He could still challenge Colt formally for his position.
Or perhaps... someone else might handle things in his place.
Asher glanced at him and slowly shook his head. It was obvious what his brother was thinking.
But he wouldn't interfere. He had his own plans to consider.
"Now," the king said, shifting the topic, "let's talk about that necklace."