CHAPTER 53: FRESHER BALL (1)

Chapter 52 - Fresher Ball (2)

PRESENT

(Leon POV)

From my table, I watched them.

No—everyone watched them.

The music played on, the chandeliers glittered like scattered diamonds, laughter rose and fell in practiced tones... but the undercurrent had shifted.

Michael and Maria moved through the crowd as though the hall itself bent around them. Their steps weren’t rushed, weren’t hesitant. They walked as if this ballroom, with all its crystal floors and noble bloodlines, was theirs.

Students scrambled to greet them, voices faltering, smiles stiff.

"Ah—Rank 1, congratulations..."

"...Lady Frostheart, y-you look radiant tonight."

The words fumbled out, and yet neither of them faltered. Michael offered small, calm nods. Maria smiled—just enough, never too much. Polite. Untouchable.

And the nobles?

They forced smiles that looked more like grimaces. Their pride weighed down their tongues, choking back the sneers they so desperately wanted to fling. But none dared. Not tonight.

Even Chris Blackthorn—loud, smug, always so quick to cut others down—blinked in open surprise before disguising it beneath a careless laugh. His hand tugged at his tie, a flicker of unease betraying him.

The hall was bending, I realized. Slowly, inevitably. Away from tradition. Away from us.

Toward him.

"They look good together," Elara said suddenly.

The words pierced through my chest.

My head snapped toward her. "What?"

"Good," she repeated simply, her delicate voice carrying no hesitation. She swirled her wine, moonlight hair gleaming under the chandelier.

"Like... balance."

Her gaze stayed on them, thoughtful. Admiring.

Aiden’s laugh cut the moment like a blade. He leaned back in his chair, his wolfish grin flashing sharp teeth.

"Oh, Leon’s not going to like that one bit."

Heat coiled in my chest. My grip on the goblet tightened again, the stem groaning under the strain.

Balance.

Good together.

Perfect pair.

The words echoed, mocking me.

I grit my teeth.

No matter what, no matter how he clawed his way upward—Michael Willson was still nothing more than a commoner cloaked in borrowed light.

I wouldn’t let myself forget that.

---

(Michael POV)

The laughter, the music, the perfume of enchanted roses—it all blurred into background noise.

What didn’t blur was Leon’s stare.

Heavy. Burning. Like a torch pressed to my skin.

I didn’t need to look to know it was there. But I did anyway. Just once.

Our eyes met across the hall.

No words were spoken. None needed.

But in that single locked glance, everything was said.

The pride. The resentment. The challenge.

And then, deliberately, I turned away.

Maria noticed. Of course she did. Her grip on my arm tightened, just the barest fraction, before her voice slid into my ear—soft, measured, carrying that icy calm she always wore like armor.

"Careful," she murmured. "Lionheart doesn’t take kindly to being overshadowed."

Her breath brushed lightly against my skin, words weighted with warning.

I almost smiled.

"Then he should shine brighter," I said flatly.

Maria’s steps slowed just half a pace. Her eyes flickered sideways, surprise glinting first—then something else.

Delight.

Her lips curved ever so slightly, a smirk that carried both amusement and approval.

"Hm," she breathed. "I didn’t expect you to answer like that."

The warmth of the chandeliers spilled over her silver hair, catching in her eyes like twin shards of starlight.

I didn’t reply.

Because for once, I didn’t need to.

---

The ballroom continued around us music rising, laughter flowing, nobles scheming but between Leon’s clenched jaw across the hall and Maria’s faint smile at my side, I could feel it.

The stage was already set.

And the real performance hadn’t even begun.

--------

(Eric POV)

I had prepared myself.

Or at least, I thought I had.

From the moment Maria Frostheart rejected me... from the moment her cold voice cut through the air, telling me she already had a partner for the Ball, I swore to myself I wouldn’t flinch.

I even found someone else.

Lillian Qnill.

She was... simple. A priest-class cadet from B-Class, timid but bright. When she asked me if I wanted to attend with her, I almost laughed. Almost. But the way her hands trembled, the way she bit her lip as though expecting me to crush her before she even finished speaking...

Something inside me shifted.

I should have refused outright. My family would scoff at the very idea of me walking with someone like her. A Qnill? A hunter’s bloodline with barely any recognition? My parents would call it degrading.

And yet—

Her eyes were so earnest.

And the silence stretched, waiting for my answer.

So my pride answered first.

"I should not go with a lowly person like you—" I began, watching as her smile crumbled, her gaze dropping.

But I didn’t stop. My pride wouldn’t allow me to. "...But as a generous man, I will accept your offer for your braveness."

For a moment, she didn’t believe me. She blinked. Then blinked again. And then—

She jumped, literally jumped, her hands pressed to her lips, eyes sparkling.

"Really?!"

Her voice cracked, full of disbelief and raw joy.

I remember turning away quickly so she wouldn’t see my face.

Because... in that instant... I felt something strange.

Warmth.

But it wasn’t Maria.

It wasn’t the Frostheart girl who had occupied my heart since I was twelve years old.

---

(Flashback – Age 12)

It had been at a Duke’s party. I don’t even remember the man’s name now. Some gathering of noble bloodlines, another suffocating banquet hall filled with hollow words and false laughter.

And then I saw her.

Maria Frostheart.

Her silver hair shone like threads of moonlight under the chandeliers. Her pale blue eyes didn’t waver when others approached her. She stood alone, aloof, yet utterly unshaken—as if she belonged in a world no one else could touch.

And I—just a boy, fumbling through rehearsed etiquette and half-learned sword forms—stared.

My chest tightened. My hands trembled.

Love at first sight.

That’s what the novels called it, wasn’t it?

Even then, I knew what I wanted.

My family encouraged it. "A Frostheart daughter would be an excellent match," they told me. They even sent an engagement letter, though no reply ever came.

And I... tried.

Gods, I tried.

Every banquet, every festival, every chance encounter—I looked for her. I tried to speak, even when her cold eyes cut me down. Even when her responses were little more than nods or silence.

But I told myself it didn’t matter.

Because one day, we would meet again.

At the Academy.

And when that day came... I would make her see me.

---

(Back to Present – The Ball)

And here we were.

The chandeliers sparkled above. The music swelled. Nobles paraded in with their carefully chosen partners.

And Maria Frostheart...

Maria Frostheart walked in with him.

Michael Willson.

The so-called Rank 1.

I almost laughed when I first saw them together. Surely, it was nothing. A ruse, perhaps. A way to dismiss pests like me. She hadn’t really chosen him. She couldn’t have.

He was... random.

A commoner boy with a flashy duel under his belt, nothing more.

Yes. That had to be it.

Flashback – The Rejection)

"Maria," I had said that morning, my heart pounding, my words rehearsed a thousand times. "Would you honor me by being my partner for the Ball?"

Her gaze turned. Cold. Still.

And she said—

"I already have a partner."

No hesitation. No apology. No opening for me to plead.

Just finality.

I told myself then that it was a lie. That she was simply avoiding me, as she always had. That she had chosen some random name to brush me aside.

But now—

Now I saw the truth.

She hadn’t lied.

She had chosen him.

---------

(Present)

But then—

The music shifted.

The lights softened.

And Maria... Maria Frostheart turned to him.

Her hand, pale and delicate, slipped into his.

The whispers rose.

"Maria Frostheart... actually dancing?"

"...With him?"

My chest froze.

I waited—waited for her to push him away, to remind him of his place, to show that this was nothing more than a whim.

But she didn’t.

She pulled him forward. Onto the dance floor.

And she smiled.

Not the cold, distant curl of lips she gave me.

Not the indifferent mask she wore at every noble gathering.

But a small, amused smile, like the faint thaw of frost beneath spring sunlight.

I gripped my goblet so hard I thought it might shatter.

No. No, this wasn’t real.

He was fumbling. His steps were stiff, mechanical. He wasn’t graceful, not like a noble trained in ballroom arts since childhood. He should have embarrassed her.

But Maria moved with him. Guided him. Laughed with him.

Laughed.

And he... smiled back.

Like he belonged.

My throat tightened, dry.

Because in that moment, even I who had watched her for years—saw something I had never seen before.

Maria Frostheart wasn’t just tolerating him.

She was... shining.

------------

(Eric POV – Present)

The music swelled, their steps spinning across the crystalline floor. The chandeliers rained light across her silver hair, across his steady frame. The hall itself seemed to pause for them.

And me?

I sat in the corner. Watching.

With Lillian at my side, her eyes wide with awe at the dance, her hands clasped as though she were witnessing a fairy tale.

I wanted to scream. To rage.

But I couldn’t.

Because all I could see was her smile.

Her smile that wasn’t for me.

My vision blurred. My chest burned.

And yet, I forced the goblet to my lips, swallowing wine that tasted like ash.

Because I was Eric.

Because I was noble.

Because I had pride.

I wouldn’t let them see me break.

But inside... I was already in pieces.

--_____________________________

In every ball, there are those who shine on the stage—

And those who fade into the crowd.

Maria Frostheart had chosen her stage.

And Eric—once a boy who dreamed of her smile—could only watch as it was given to another.

One-sided love.

Cold rejection.

The weight of a heart that had never even been considered.

And yet, behind his pride, a new resolve began to burn.

If she would not see him now—then he would force her to see him later.

No matter the cost.

________________________________

---

(Eric POV )

I whispered into the rim of my glass, too quiet for anyone to hear.

"Michael Willson... you’ve stolen what was mine. But I will take it back."

I didn’t know how.

I didn’t know when.

But the fire in my chest demanded it.

Because love...

Because pride...

Because heartbreak this deep could not be left unanswered.

And so I watched.

Watched her dance with him.

Even as every step shattered me further.