CHAPTER 283: TOPICS (2)

"You try to wing it. Badly."

Damien laughed, and to his credit, didn’t argue.

"And after that?"

"Math."

That made him smile again. "I figured you’d loop it back around."

"You’re already decent. You just don’t practice."

"Well," he said, leaning his head against the seat, "I suppose that’s fair."

Then, after a pause—

"That’s good. I don’t want to burden you too much, either."

She blinked. "What?"

"I mean, tutoring someone like me," he said, tone still light, but there was something steadier underneath it. "Not exactly in your schedule, is it?"

She didn’t respond right away.

Because—well—no, it hadn’t been in her schedule. Not in her projections. Not in any version of her semester she’d planned. It wasn’t optimal.

And yet, here they were.

"I can handle it," she said finally.

He gave her a look. Something unreadable, but not unserious.

Then leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on his knee, eyes still on her.

"Don’t worry," he said. "Soon enough..."

A pause. Not dramatic. Just exact.

"I’ll be right behind you in rankings."

Isabelle met his eyes fully now.

"We’ll see about that," Isabelle said quietly.

It wasn’t dismissive.

It wasn’t mocking, either.

Just... even. The way someone might acknowledge the claim of a challenger who hadn’t proven anything yet—but might.

Damien didn’t respond with words.

Just a small, satisfied breath through his nose and the flick of his gaze back toward the window.

The car began to slow.

A soft chime sounded through the cabin—same composed tone as before.

"Arrival confirmed. You may exit here. Parking will be handled automatically."

Isabelle’s fingers shifted slightly against her bag strap. Before she could react, Elysia was already opening her door.

Efficient as ever.

Damien stepped out the other side, a quiet thud following as his door shut behind him. The moment Isabelle stepped out and her shoes hit the ground, the door closed neatly at her back, and the Selvenhardt eased itself away, turning smoothly into the autonomous lot entrance just across the street.

She adjusted the strap of her bag and looked up—

And paused.

Her eyes widened—just a little.

The place Damien had brought them to...

"This place..." she murmured.

It was—

Well, nice.

But not in the obnoxious, gold-plated kind of way.

The building stood like it belonged—glass-paneled walls framed by dark oak inlays, minimalist signage etched in subtle matte silver: Delva Commons. Modern, but not trying too hard. The front patio had a quiet set of steps leading to a recessed entrance surrounded by clean greenery. Inside, visible through the glass, were high tables with built-in charging ports, recessed lights set in a warm honey glow, and scattered wall shelves lined with real books—not decoration pieces, but actual used copies, dog-eared and out of order.

The vibe wasn’t exactly academic.

It was quietly professional. Clean, structured, with just enough warmth to not feel clinical.

Though it looked... expensive.

Definitely more than what Isabelle would normally even consider.

But it wasn’t flashy. Not gaudy. The people inside were seated far apart, voices low. Some had laptops open. Others scrolled through projection pads, sipping drinks in silence.

"This isn’t a cafe," Isabelle said after a beat. "It’s a hybrid study lounge."

Damien—already walking ahead toward the doors—glanced back with that usual smirk tugging at one side of his mouth.

"Yep," he said.

Isabelle’s eyes narrowed slightly as she caught up to him near the door. Damien had already scanned something on his watch, and the entry panel gave a soft blink of confirmation. The door whispered open.

She didn’t step through.

Not yet.

Instead, she looked at him. Really looked.

His posture was easy—always was—but his eyes were sharp today. Focused in a way that was starting to bother her.

"How did you know about this place?"

Damien glanced at her, smile flickering again. "I just figured it out on the internet."

"..."

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stared at him in silence, thoughts ticking through like flipped index cards.

’So he searched for this.’

That alone shouldn’t have surprised her. But it did.

This guy is really strange sometimes, she thought.

He didn’t even blink under her scrutiny.

"Come on," he said, nudging the door open wider. "Enter."

She stepped through. The transition from soft exterior air to the building’s gentle climate control was seamless. Warm wood, clean light, quiet conversations. Her eyes swept the interior once again—automated drink bar to the right, soundproof booths along the far wall, and those glass-walled study pods near the back.

No wasted space. No unnecessary noise.

He really did pick this place with purpose.

Damien approached the concierge terminal and booked a booth for two without hesitation. A subtle blue light lit up around a pod window in the far right quadrant.

And then Isabelle noticed.

Elysia wasn’t following them in.

She stayed outside, standing just past the entryway under the shade of the side awning—straight-backed, hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Wait," Isabelle said. "Why did she even come with us if she wasn’t going to enter?"

"She?" Damien asked, then followed her line of sight. "Ah. You mean Elysia."

"Yes," Isabelle said flatly. "Do you need your maid with you at all times?"

There was a beat.

And then—he chuckled.

"Class Rep," he said, "she’s not just my maid."

Isabelle blinked. "What?"

"She’s also my guard."

"Guard?"

"Yep."

He leaned in a little, conspiratorial, eyes gleaming just enough to make it unclear whether he was teasing or not.

"You may not know it," he said casually, "but she’s the strongest person here."

Isabelle’s brows furrowed. "She’s... an Awakened?"

Damien just smiled.

"Guess."

Isabelle let out a quiet humph, her gaze sliding toward the window where Elysia stood.

Damien’s tone had been casual—half-joke, half-truth—but still...

It made sense.

She did look like someone who wasn’t just trained, but disciplined. There was no wasted motion in how she stood. No softness in the line of her shoulders. Her stillness wasn’t passive—it was attentive. Controlled. The kind of person who didn’t just react to danger, but anticipated it.

’A person of duty,’ Isabelle thought. ’And precision.’

It clicked now. That faint, strange pressure she’d felt back in the car—the way Elysia’s eyes had brushed over her like a scanner. It hadn’t just been courtesy.

It had been assessment.

And then another thought crept in.

Of course she has a guard.

She turned her head slowly toward Damien—who had already taken his seat, leaning back against the booth’s plush interior with that same maddening calm.

She sometimes forgot.

Sometimes he made it easy to forget.

That Damien Elford wasn’t just some annoying boy in class with too much charm and too little care.

He was an Elford.

One of the oldest and most prominent names in Vermillion City. A family woven through the city’s governance, economy, and whatever else moved quietly beneath polished surface layers. She’d heard the name in council addresses. In school donation plaques. On the marble wall near the library’s entrance, etched just above "primary patron."

And yet...

Damien didn’t act like it.

Not in the loud, look-at-me way she’d come to expect from children of power.

But now and then—like today—he’d do something so seamless, so intentional, that it reminded her exactly what kind of world he’d come from.

And exactly how far removed from hers that world really was.

She took her seat across from him, eyes still faintly narrowed.

"I suppose having a guard makes sense," she said under her breath.

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Nothing."