On heat control for stimulant-class alchemical tonics...

Vinny’s fingertip was guiding the line when the orchid-cool fragrance at his side crept closer, thicker, more insistent.

At first he didn’t pay it any mind—chalked it up to his imagination, or to the black-haired ice beauty beside him having sat there long enough for her scent to spread. But what happened next made that explanation impossible.

For stimulant-class tonics, heat control hinges on smell. When you can judge the current cohesion of the brew by the scent rising from the crucible—and decide whether to go low flame or high—you’ve reached mastery. Sounds simple; it isn’t. Every stimulant has its own scent, so you need a deep well of experience. Usually you go by the richness of the—

Hm? No, hold on. It really is getting stronger??

Vinny froze for a beat.

“Pat.” Before he could process anything, his shoulder sank under a soft weight; warm silk brushed him; the orchid fragrance that had felt a polite arm’s length away suddenly flooded his nose.

W-what??

He didn’t dare think wild thoughts, yet the scene itself was wildly unbelievable. His neck creaked around like it had springs in it, inch by inch toward his right.

And there it was—the picture he’d vaguely suspected yet hadn’t dared let himself imagine—laid out vivid as day.

The black-haired, cool-faced beauty who felt both at arm’s reach and a world away had, here in the public hush of a library, amid witnesses and watchful eyes, lowered her head onto his shoulder. Satin-sleek black hair spilled like fine silk. He couldn’t tell if the faint perfume was from her hair or her skin.

Wh-what kind of situation is this?!

Warmth like polished jade. Fragrance at kissing distance. The sultry, mind-seizing tableau made Vinny’s brain hard-crash.

Who is he? Where is he? What is he doing? Why did he come here? And who is the person in his arms? Why is she lying there??

Th-this can’t be right, can it??

His luck with women in Camella’s capital was nowhere near this charmed. And the one on his shoulder was the Empire’s First Princess, Isatia Lanteville??

He and Isatia weren’t anywhere near that kind of relationship. They barely counted as acquaintances, nothing more. And honestly, he didn’t peg someone like Isatia as the type to go mush-brained for romance.

So what on earth is this?

No—could it be that something’s wrong with Isatia??

The most likely explanation hit him. Granted, with Isatia being the Tyrel Empire’s First Princess, no sapient being would dare try to harm her. You’d be signing not just your own death warrant but your whole family’s.

So the problem would have to be hers. Could Her Highness be suffering from some unspeakable hidden ailment??

Vinny could not calm down—until a steady, even breathing rose and fell beside him, step by step, and the penny dropped.

Oh. She’s asleep??

But in public—how do you read and just... fall asleep? No matter how tired you are, you don’t nod off under a hundred eyes and topple onto a not-even-familiar male classmate’s shoulder, do you?

She doesn’t strike him as someone that absentminded.

And that wasn’t even the main point.

Vinny considered giving Isatia a gentle shake—and immediately abandoned the idea.

His back prickled like a row of needles. Sweat gathered. A thousand pinpricks crawled his pores.

Right. The library doesn’t only contain the two of them.

There were plenty of students watching—quite a few from the Tyrel Empire among them.

Vinny could feel it now: those Tyrel students would have loved to tear him limb from limb on the spot.

Isatia drew stares wherever she went. The library was no different—idol effect, all eyes tracking.

If it weren’t for the setting—and the fact that Isatia was right there—some of the hotheads among them might actually try something.

Isatia’s popularity in the Empire matched Mirexia’s in the Kingdom of Camella.

They knew they had no real shot themselves, but “keep the water in your own fields,” as the saying goes—let alone handing it to that notorious foreign delinquent?

Who does he think he is? With what? Pick any one of Her Highness’s suitors at random and he’d be a hundred times better than this fraudulent piece of work. Toad lusting after swan.

If looks could kill, Vinny figured he’d be a colander.

He didn’t care how people he didn’t care about viewed him, but personally he disliked trouble.

It’s like being swarmed by mosquitoes: not life-threatening, just maddening, and sooner or later someone’s going to try tripping you in the dark.

“Ahem, Isatia. Isatia? Wake up?” Either way, they could not keep this up. Vinny gave his shoulder the slightest shake, trying to rouse her.

“...” Movement, at once. Spider-silk lashes fluttered; then those violet eyes eased open.

Realization dawned that she’d dozed off against him. She straightened, and a lazy, drowsy gaze flashed with a hint of something unreadable.

“Sorry for troubling you.” The moment before, her refined features had been softened by sleep. Now she adjusted her posture in a heartbeat, swept a lock from her temple, and offered polite apology.

“Isatia, did you... not sleep well last night?” Vinny asked, still catching a lingering trace of her hair-scent on his shoulder.

Even so—lack of sleep alone doesn’t have you napping on a barely-acquainted classmate, does it? This level of exhaustion looks like days without rest.

And given her temperament, he doubted “a few sleepless nights” would make her topple onto his shoulder. Way too careless.

He sensed something else might be going on with Isatia, but he didn’t press. In the end, it was her business. It might touch on her secrets. Why stick his hand into someone else’s life? Who is he to her? That’d be reaching way too far.

“Mm.” Isatia didn’t elaborate. Her expression settled back into cool composure, as if nothing remotely awkward had happened.

Vinny even checked [Current Virtue] and found no change.

Of course—one of the perennial top three on the “fated-heroine carnivore” lists. Even after something like that, she only considered the inconvenience she’d caused him.

Embarrassed? Why be embarrassed?

Someone with Isatia’s confidence doesn’t wobble like that.

With zero emotional fluctuation, it was also obvious she didn’t even register him as “male” in any charged sense—no interest whatsoever.

Seeing she had no interest in that line of questioning, Vinny dropped it.

He couldn’t help wondering how, in the original, Aesphyra managed to “win” Isatia. From where he was sitting, Isatia had no openings—a woman who hadn’t even considered partners.

Credit where due: Aesphyra’s flirting really was S-tier—enough to bend a rock-solid straight woman who didn’t care for romance.

Just then, as they lapsed back into silence and each returned to their reading, a pleasant tick of rolling grit sounded on the tabletop. A pea-sized gem rolled to a stop in front of Vinny.

“??” He blinked and glanced at Isatia. She must have nudged it over with her fingertip.

“The extra portion,” Isatia said, eyes never leaving her book.

Extra portion?

Vinny needed only a beat to get it.

She meant their prior agreement. That little episode hadn’t been part of the terms.

Got leaned on—got a gem??

In that case he hoped to be leaned on daily, and only by pretty girls. How is this a loss? Profit, obviously.

He held the gem up. He was broke; trinkets weren’t his game; he couldn’t judge its grade. But since it came from Her Highness, it wasn’t going to be shabby.

“Thanks.” No posturing, no false modesty—he accepted it naturally.

Alright then. Cold she may be, but Isatia’s someone you can actually deal with.

Vinny’s mood lifted; his favorability toward Isatia spiked.

Who doesn’t like a generous big sis?

After that, nothing else happened between them. Vinny read until he was nodding off himself, decided there was no point pushing on, exchanged a brief farewell with Isatia, and headed out first.

He stepped through the library doors—and, unsurprisingly, ran into the unexpected.

“Hey, brother, got a minute?” A male student he definitely didn’t know sauntered up with an overly friendly grin.

Got a minute?

Vinny’s expression went odd.

Why are there so many blue-eyed types at Carillian Academy? Isn’t that a line you use when you’re hitting on girls on the street? Why say it to me?

To most students, Vinny was a walking disaster. Someone would approach him on purpose?

“Who are you?” He’d already pegged the guy’s intent as bad, so Vinny didn’t bother with niceties—just shot him a glance that said, Do we know each other?

“You’re Vinny of the Kingdom of Camella, the sole living heir of the Facilis line, right?” the student asked.

“Vinny who? You’ve got the wrong man.” Straight-faced, Vinny pointed off into the distance. “Vinny already left. Try over there.”

“C’mon now, Vinny, don’t be so hasty. I’ve got no other agenda—just want to be friends.” The guy drifted closer, hand lifting to sling an arm around Vinny’s shoulders.

Vinny slipped back—but the other had anticipated it and flowed right after.

Vinny caught the student’s hand—but the guy was a lot stronger. One hand wasn’t enough to hold him.

“Why so eager to run, Vinny? Like you’ve got a guilty conscience,” the student said with a smirk. “We’re classmates. No need to be so distant.”

“Distant my ass.” Vinny actually laughed, then opened fire—pure psychic damage, abstract barrage. “Did a mule kick your head or did a door frame clap it shut? Scalded your mouth with boiling water as a kid so now you can’t form a sentence? I’m walking and you’re here sniffing around for what, warmth? Did you lose your driftwood and come to me to find it??”

“Wipe that grin off. What are you grinning at? Did you find your driftwood? No? Then why the grin? You think you’ve got a future in stand-up? Think grinning makes you charming? That strained, constipated smile of yours looks exactly like someone just nailed your precious coffin shut. Absolute bottom-feeding maggot.”

“...” The student prided himself on iron patience—the kind of dead smile that could torture anyone weaker than him. He had, however, underestimated Vinny’s mouth. The free-form barrage came out in one breath, crisp diction, maximum sarcasm, weaponized cruelty—leaving him stunned into ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) silence.

Now he was awkward—struggling to keep his “mysterious” vibe while clearly on the verge of snapping. His eyebrows gave it away.

“Buddy, stop letting people use you as a tool. Have the faceless coward behind you come out and speak to me himself,” Vinny said, one brow arched. “What is this? Doing this every day because he’s too ashamed to show up? I’ll stand right here and curse him out. What precious trash, huh?”

He’d pegged the guy at a glance: some noble’s hired goon.

How? Experience. This wasn’t his first rodeo. The tells were all there.

And why talk this loud without fear of a beating? Simple: no fighting on campus. First to throw a punch gets expelled.

That was Vinny’s play.

If you swing first, enjoy expulsion. If you don’t, you’ll keep eating my verbal artillery.

Heh. Try outplaying Camella’s king of bad ideas.

“...Heh. Vinny, listen, you misunderstand. I only wanted to reconnect,” the student managed after a long pause.

“Ank, what are you doing here?” A voice drifted from the library doors.

Both of them turned at once. Isatia Lanteville stood in the entrance, calm violet gaze resting on the student entwined with Vinny.