Chapter 52 : Chapter 52
Chapter 52 : Rain
Ryan walked down the steps. As he passed by her side, he caught a faint scent—not perfume, but something closer to the smell of old books and aged parchment, mixed with a cool, plant-like freshness.
He descended to the next floor, his footsteps echoing through the empty stairwell.
When he reached the lobby on the first floor, he glanced back.
Cecilia and Ilis were still standing on the stair landing. The princess had lowered her head to read the thick book again, while Ilis stood half a step away, gazing out at the heavy rain beyond the window.
The black-haired girl’s profile was strikingly clear in the dim light—her sharp nose, thin and straight lips, and those amethyst-like eyes.
The rain roared like a waterfall.
Ryan turned and pushed open the main doors of the building.
The princess had stopped turning the pages. Her gaze passed over the open book and drifted toward the entrance below. The rain outside hung like a heavy gray curtain beyond the portico, water splashing into white foam across the stone steps.
Ryan pushed the door open.
Wind and rain rushed into the hall, stirring his dark brown hair. He paused just inside the threshold and raised his right hand.
His fingers spread, palm facing upward.
A faint glow flickered across his fingertips.
The Mana fluctuation was extremely slight, like ripples spreading across the surface of a deep pond after a pebble falls into it. The wind gathered above his head, swirling into an invisible vortex.
When the raindrops fell, they struck that thin layer of air.
They were neither repelled nor blocked outright.
Instead, the moment they touched the barrier, they changed direction, sliding along the curved surface and forming a transparent, constantly flowing sheet of water.
Ryan stepped forward into the curtain of rain.
The flowing membrane moved with him.
From the perspective of the stair landing above, it looked as if an invisible dome covered him. Rainwater streamed across the surface of the dome, splitting and merging like rivulets running across curved glass. His steps remained steady.
When his boots stepped into puddles, the splashing mud struck the edge of the barrier and was diverted by the airflow, falling harmlessly back to the ground.
The canvas shoulder bag remained slung over his shoulder.
The fabric stayed dry.
Cecilia’s gaze followed the moving barrier.
Deep within her blue eyes reflected the patterns of rain sliding across that invisible curved surface—the speed of the water, the angle of impact, the way the streams divided and converged. Her eyelashes trembled slightly.
Ilis also turned her head.
Her violet eyes fixed on the vague figure within the rain. A sharp glint flashed deep within her pupils, almost too subtle to notice. The black-haired girl’s fingers curled unconsciously, her knuckles pressing against the edge of the blueprints in her arms.
Below the stair landing, several students who had just finished class crowded around the entrance hall.
One opened an umbrella, only to have the canopy immediately flipped inside out by the wind. Another pulled off his coat and held it over his head, preparing to dash outside. Others hesitated, wondering whether to wait for the rain to weaken.
They saw Ryan.
“Is that… Velt?”
“How is he—”
“A magic barrier? But I did not see any runes…”
Their whispers were swallowed by the rain.
Ryan had already reached the center of the square. The rain split above his head and flowed around him, forming a shifting curtain of water.
Through that curtain, his profile could be seen—expressionless, with no visible strain from maintaining the spell. He did not even look down at the path. His gaze was fixed somewhere ahead, stepping around the larger puddles. Occasionally pebbles or broken twigs blown by the wind struck the barrier, only to be gently pushed aside by the airflow.
The sounds of training from the practice grounds fell silent.
Someone had likely noticed the unusual sight.
Cecilia closed the book in her hands.
The leather cover shut with a soft sound. She lifted her gaze again, still following the figure moving through the rain.
Then the corner of her lips curved upward slightly.
It was not an obvious smile.
But Ilis saw it.
The black-haired girl shifted her gaze from the rain to the princess’s face. It paused briefly on that fleeting curve before dropping again.
Ryan arrived at the steps of the dormitory building.
He stopped and lightly turned his raised wrist.
The barrier above his head began to dissolve with the motion. Like melting ice, it thinned from the edges, gradually turning transparent before dispersing into faint streams of air that vanished into the wind and rain.
The rain fell onto him once more.
But only for a few seconds.
He had already stepped beneath the shelter of the roof. When he pulled back his hood, only the tips of his hair were damp. The fabric on his shoulders had darkened slightly, as though touched by morning dew rather than soaked by a storm.
He wiped his face.
There was indeed water on the back of his hand, but not much—like the faint residue left after washing without fully drying.
Inside the dormitory hall, several first-year students stood by the windows.
They stared at Ryan, then turned to look at the torrential rain outside. Their expressions held a mixture of confusion and surprise. Their conversations dropped to hushed murmurs.
Ryan did not stop.
He walked straight up the stairs.
His boots struck the wooden steps with dull thuds. The windows along the second-floor corridor were open, and slanted rain blew in, leaving patches of water on the floor and against the walls. He walked past those puddles without getting his shoes wet.
His footsteps gradually faded into the distance.
He reached the door to his room and took out his key.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Warm yellow light spilled from inside the room, spreading across the cold stone floor of the corridor like a soft orange pool.
Cosette sat kneeling in that light, a literacy booklet open across her knees.
But the page had not been turned for a long time.
Her fingers unconsciously tugged at the corner of the page as she stared at the same paragraph for the third time without absorbing a single word. Her ears were alert, listening for every shift in the rhythm of the rain outside.
The rain struck the window glass in uneven bursts.
Each time the downpour suddenly intensified, her shoulders tensed slightly. Her gaze drifted from the page to the tightly closed door. Her fingers twisted the corner of the page faster, crumpling it further.
At last, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Not the light steps of other students returning to their rooms, but a heavier, steadier rhythm.
She recognized that sound immediately.
Cosette practically sprang to her feet. The booklet slid from her lap and landed on the carpet with a soft thud, but she did not bother picking it up. She hurried toward the door.
The door opened, bringing in a gust of damp, chilly air.
Ryan stood there.
Only a few strands of his dark brown hair were wet where the rain had struck them, clinging lightly to his skin. The wool of his uniform coat was slightly darker at the shoulders, but it looked more like it had touched morning dew than endured a storm. Mud speckled the edges of his boots, but his trousers were dry and crisp.
Cosette froze for a moment.
Then the worry drained from her face like a receding tide. He looked nothing like the soaked, bedraggled figure she had imagined.
She stepped forward, holding out a towel she had already prepared.
“Master! Are you all right? The rain was so heavy—I thought—”
Before she finished speaking, her hand touched the back of his hand.
Her fingertips were cold.
She had been gripping the towel for too long while waiting. She froze briefly, then hurriedly wrapped the towel around his hand.
“I prepared a towel,” she said, tilting her face upward to inspect him carefully. “I thought you did not bring an umbrella and would certainly be soaked… Please dry yourself—your hair, and the back of your neck. That part catches a chill most easily.”
As she spoke, she stood on tiptoe and used the towel to wipe the ends of his hair.
Ryan took the towel from her.
Cosette did not release it immediately. Instead, she pushed it forward a little more until she was certain it fully covered the damp strands before stepping back half a pace. Her gaze remained fixed on him, as though checking for any other place that needed drying.
“Give me the bag,” she said, reaching for the shoulder bag.
Her fingers touched the canvas and paused.
The heavy, soaked weight she had expected was not there.
She ran her hands over the strap and the bottom of the bag in quick inspection.
“…It did not get soaked?” she said, lifting her eyes. Surprise flickered in her dark brown pupils, quickly turning into relief. “That is good… that is very good.”
Her voice softened, almost like a whisper to herself.
She stood and hung the bag on the hook behind the door. Afterward she touched the bottom of it again, confirming that only the surface was slightly damp before letting out a long breath.
When she turned around, the ties of her apron traced a small arc through the air.
She returned to Ryan’s side and naturally reached for the coat he had just removed.
“You should still dry yourself,” she said, shaking out the coat and pinching the inside of the collar and sleeves. The wool fabric was only slightly damp at the edges, as though touched by stray droplets. “If the cold seeps in, it will be troublesome. The young master from Daniel’s family in the next class caught a fever for three days after getting caught in the rain and not changing clothes.”
She spoke without looking at him, her gaze moving carefully over every inch of the coat.
Her fingers smoothed out a crease, then checked another spot with the same concentration she might show when handling a fragile antique.
After finishing, she looked up at Ryan.
The worry had not fully faded from her dark brown eyes, but it had softened.
Ryan wiped the ends of his hair with the towel.
Cosette’s gaze followed every movement of his hands. She did not blink until he lowered the towel again.
Only then did she press her lips together, revealing a satisfied expression.
She carried the coat to the window.
A hanger had already been prepared. Before hanging it up, she shook it out once more and carefully smoothed it flat—from the shoulders to the hem. Even after hanging it, she stepped back to inspect it, adjusting the angle twice until the shoulders aligned perfectly and the hem fell without the slightest tilt.
When she finished, she turned back.
The warm yellow light behind her outlined her figure with a soft golden edge. Her dark brown eyes gleamed in the glow.
She stood there with a faint smear of dust on her apron from rising too quickly earlier. The literacy booklet still lay open on the carpet, its page corner wrinkled.
But her expression had relaxed.
Ryan turned toward the desk.
Within the halo of the oil lamp, steam rose from a white porcelain bowl on a dark wooden tray. The rich aroma of stew mixed with the warmth of freshly cooked rice, forming a small cloud of comforting warmth.
Ryan paused.
Before leaving earlier, he clearly remembered saying that rain might fall and that dinner did not need to be prepared—he would take care of it himself.
But Cosette had stood by the window watching the sky grow darker and darker, listening to distant thunder.
Her fingers twisted the edge of her apron again and again.
In the end, she had still picked up an umbrella and gone out.
Now the steaming food sat on the table like silent evidence of her “disobeying her master’s orders.”
Her gaze drifted toward the doorway.
The dark blue academy umbrella was still dripping water. Droplets slowly gathered at the ends of the ribs.
Cosette hurried over.
She reached out to take the umbrella outside—but her hand stopped halfway.
If she moved it now, it would leave a trail of water on the floor.
That would make it even more obvious.