CHAPTER 54: AUCTION BEGINS

The moment the final class ended, I didn’t wait for the usual crowd to surge out of the room like a released tide. I was already on my feet, my bag slung over my shoulder, my mind racing through the thousand and one things I still had to do. The lecture on thaumaturgic field theory had been a dull, droning hum in the background of my own frantic calculations.

I needed to assemble a staff for the stall, yes—but that could wait. The chaos of the festival prep would provide ample cover for recruitment.

The auction, however?

That couldn’t.

There were only a few precious hours left before I had to leave for the venue, and the item I was after... well, it had the power to tilt my entire future, to shift the very balance of power in this world. It was a linchpin, a fulcrum upon which my destiny rested.

My legs moved quickly through the sun-drenched courtyard paths, a blur of motion bypassing the idle conversations of students, the graceful, synchronized movements of the dance troupes practicing for their fest acts, and the occasional, simpering noble who tried to catch my eye. Not today.

I reached my dorm and threw open the door with more force than was strictly necessary.

Masha stood inside, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of cool disapproval. She was waiting, as if she’d predicted the exact minute I’d arrive.

"You’re late," she said, her voice flat. "You still need to shower, and I haven’t finalized your accessories. We don’t have much time before the carriage is scheduled to leave."

"I got held up," I muttered, throwing my bag onto the plush couch. "Let’s just get this over wi—"

Ding.

The doorbell rang, a sharp, clear sound that cut through the quiet of the dorm.

I frowned. "Now what?"

A male voice, clipped and formal, spoke through the door, a butler by the tone of it. "Sir, the princess is waiting outs—"

The poor guy was interrupted by a familiar voice that sliced through the dorm like a bolt of lightning, sharp, imperious, and utterly devoid of patience.

"Open the door, Ashen! I can’t just stand out here all night, you know!"

My eye twitched.

I walked to the door, my hand already on the handle, and opened it—

—and there she stood.

Layla Nowa.

Crown princess. Student council president. And, apparently, a serial breaker of dormitory regulations.

Her silver braid fell over her shoulder like a polished ribbon of moonlight, the fine fabric of the uniform coat she wore slightly longer and more tailored than the standard-issue, a subtle declaration of her status. Her violet eyes, sharp and analytical, scanned the room behind me like a queen inspecting her new palace. Her cheeks had the faintest touch of color from the evening chill, but she wore her confidence like a mantle, unshakable and absolute.

Behind her stood her loyal butler, a man who looked as if he were about ready to commit murder for this egregious breach of etiquette.

I raised a brow. "Lady Layla. This is the boys’ dormitory."

She swept past me like she owned the place, her movements a study in regal grace. "I’m aware."

"You just—walked into my room."

"I’m a princess. I can break protocols. That’s what being royalty is for," she said, casually perching on the armrest of my plush lounge chair, her posture perfect even in its casualness.

"You do realize this isn’t your kingdom, right?" I said as I shut the door, the sound a soft thud in the suddenly tense room. "Headmaster Evelyn has made it pretty clear that she’s tired of royal families strutting around like they own the place. If she finds out about this, it’ll be a mess."

Layla yawned, a delicate, almost bored gesture that was more infuriating than any open display of arrogance. "Then let’s make it quick."

I sighed, a sound of profound weariness. "Fine. Ten minutes. I need to shower."

She nodded, tossing her braid behind her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. "I’ll wait here. But if you make me wait too long, I’m deducting your share of the carriage snacks."

"Noted," I grumbled, heading to the bathroom, the weight of the evening already settling on my shoulders.

Steam clouded the mirror as I finished my shower, the hot water a welcome balm on my aching muscles.

And like a complete and utter creature of habit... I walked out without thinking.

Just a towel wrapped low around my waist. Water still dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. My muscles, honed by weeks of relentless training, tense from the day’s stress. Shirtless.

I stepped into the hallway—

And saw three sets of eyes staring at me.

Layla, seated cross-legged on the couch, her usual composure momentarily forgotten.

Her butler, stiff as a statue and turning a shade of purple that was probably unhealthy.

And Masha, standing beside a clothing rack she had prepared, a single, perfect eyebrow arched in amusement.

Layla’s eyes widened instantly, a faint, beautiful blush creeping across her cheeks. "W-What are you—?!"

Her butler stepped forward so fast I didn’t even see his feet move, his face a mask of apoplectic rage.

"How dare you walk around half-naked in front of Her Highness!" he thundered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"Uh, this is my dorm?" I said dryly.

"You should have warned us! The princess is of noble blood—this is indecent!"

"Again. My room."

Masha coughed gently into her hand, doing her best not to laugh—and failing miserably. Her eyes flicked toward Layla and back to me, a wicked smirk dancing on her lips.

Layla glared at her. "Don’t look so smug."

"I’m not," Masha said sweetly. "I’m just admiring the view... of our young master’s poor manners."

I sighed, a sound of utter defeat. "Alright, alright. Just give me two minutes. I’ll change."

I turned to Masha. "Help me dress."

She looked oddly pleased. "Of course, Master."

As we walked into the bedroom, I caught Layla watching us, her gaze sharp—and maybe, just maybe, a little jealous.

This was going to be a long evening.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out in full formal attire.

A midnight black suit, its fabric woven with subtle, light-absorbing threads that seemed to drink the light. A silver lining on the cuffs and collar. And a high-collared overcoat with obsidian buttons that shimmered faintly in the light. A single silver chain hung from my breast pocket, attached to a gem-inlaid pin shaped like a phoenix feather—Masha’s subtle, and surprisingly sentimental, nod to my newfound power.

Layla’s eyes scanned me from head to toe, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second too long.

She didn’t say anything.

But the faint parting of her lips, the slight, almost imperceptible shift in her expression—that was enough.

"Shall we depart?" I asked, my voice a low, smooth murmur.

She stood, her own regal composure fully restored. "You clean up well."

"I wasn’t trying to impress anyone."

Her butler huffed in the background, but kept quiet as we left the dorm and stepped into the waiting carriage.

The streets of Zerawell were already beginning to glow with the soft, magical light of arcane lanterns. Shops, their windows filled with enchanted goods, flickered to life, and nobles in fine cloaks and glittering gowns stepped through shimmering runes etched into the sidewalks, vanishing into private corridors or long-distance transport runes.

Our carriage rolled forward, its wheels silent on the cobblestone streets, pulled by two elegant, mana-bred stallions whose coats shimmered like polished obsidian. The carriage itself was the height of luxury—plush, cushioned benches, curtained windows, and an enchantment bubble that made the interior warm, silent, and utterly private.

Layla sat across from me, her arms folded, her gaze half-lidded as she watched the city lights blur past.

"I didn’t think you’d actually look nervous," she said after a minute of comfortable silence.

"I’m not nervous."

"You’re bouncing your foot."

I stopped.

"...I’m focused," I corrected.

She smiled, a genuine, beautiful expression that seemed to light up the dim interior of the carriage.

"This thing you’re after," she said softly, her voice losing its usual regal edge. "It’s that important?"

I nodded. "If I get it, I change the game. If I don’t..." I let the words hang in the air, a silent testament to the stakes of the night.

She looked at me for a long, silent second.

"...You will," she said, her voice filled with a quiet, unwavering conviction.

A comfortable pause settled between us.

Then her lips curved upward into a familiar, teasing smirk. "But if we lose all our money tonight, I’ll be charging you interest."

I smirked back. "Of course. I wouldn’t expect any less from a princess."

She tilted her head, her silver braid catching the light. "Tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Why me? Why bring me along? I know I’m useful, but... there had to be other options."

I looked out the window, at the blur of lights and shadows. "...Because you’re the only one who wouldn’t ask too many questions."

She blinked.

"...Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I’ll let you decide."

The auction house loomed in the distance—a massive, gilded structure, lit by brilliant, floating firecrystals and guarded by stoic, unmoving knights in mirrored armor. The carriages ahead of us bore the banners of powerful kingdoms and wealthy merchant guilds alike.

Our own carriage, bearing the royal crest of the Nowa Empire, slowed to a stop.

The gates opened.