Chapter 56 : Chapter 56
Chapter 56 : Attention
His silence, however, took on another meaning in the eyes of others.
Cecilia watched him stand there without speaking, and the chill in her eyes finally solidified into something tangible.
She let out a very soft “hmph.”
The cold snort was brief, yet it was loud enough for several nearby tables to hear.
“It seems the Velt family’s manners truly leave something to be desired,” she said, her voice returning to that calm composure. “Then again, it is only a declining viscount’s house.”
After saying that, she turned around. The pale platinum hem of her dress traced an elegant yet icy arc through the air as she walked toward the communal sink.
Her steps were neither hurried nor slow. Her back was perfectly straight, and each stride was so precise it seemed measured with a ruler—exactly the posture described in court etiquette textbooks.
Ryan stood where he was and watched her back.
More eyes gathered around him. Whispers spread like small ripples, drifting in from every corner of the classroom.
“…Did you hear that? Her Highness is angry…”
“That Velt fellow actually dared to make Her Highness unhappy…”
“Well, she took the initiative to talk to him. What kind of attitude was that…”
“Did you not hear what Her Highness said? The Velt family has no manners…”
The voices were hushed, but they were clear enough.
Ryan withdrew his gaze and turned back to the potion in front of him. His movements remained steady; his fingers did not tremble, and the dosage remained precise.
It was as if that brief exchange had never happened.
Yet everyone had seen it.
The Princess had walked over and spoken to him, then left with obvious displeasure. And Ryan—he had not even offered a proper explanation. He had simply stood there in silence.
In the minds of the noble students, there was only one possible interpretation.
Ryan was afraid.
He did not dare contradict the Princess, nor did he dare talk back. All he could do was silently endure words that were nearly humiliating.
Because they simply could not imagine that someone might not bother responding to a Princess.
In their eyes, when confronted by the Princess, there were only two choices: fear or explanation. Ryan had chosen silence, and therefore it must be fear.
In the distance, Cecilia had already returned to her laboratory table. She accepted a towel from Ilis and carefully wiped her fingers, her movements elegant and composed.
Her profile in the morning light looked calm and undisturbed, as if the small disturbance earlier had never occurred.
Yet the trace of coldness that had not completely faded from the corner of her lips, and the occasional glance she cast in Ryan’s direction, silently conveyed a message.
She had noticed him.
And she was not very pleased.
That alone was enough.
For the noble students in the classroom, who were skilled at reading subtle signals, that was sufficient reason to adjust their attitude toward Ryan.
Someone who had been “noticed” by the Princess—even slightly noticed—meant trouble.
And in this academy, intelligent people knew to stay far away from trouble.
At the very least, they kept their distance in public.
Ryan stirred the liquid in the beaker. The indigo potion rotated around the glass rod, gradually becoming evenly clear.
Of course he felt the change in those gazes. They shifted from curiosity, to schadenfreude, and finally to a subtle kind of distance.
Yet he did not raise his head. He did not explain. He did not even display any extra expression.
He merely focused, little by little, on sprinkling the borneol powder evenly into the potion.
It was as if nothing in this world mattered to him except the liquid before his eyes.
Allen Walker pushed up his glasses and said in a low voice, “The temperature is about to exceed the limit.”
Ryan turned back immediately and adjusted the flame of the alcohol lamp. The thermometer in the water bath trembled slightly at the sixty-five-degree mark before finally stabilizing.
He continued stirring the mixture. The indigo liquid swirled around the glass rod, gradually becoming even and clear.
Two hours later, most of the groups had finished their preparation.
Professor Horne began inspecting the results. Holding a strip of test paper, he dipped a drop from each group’s finished product and observed the color change and duration on the strip.
When it was Ryan’s group’s turn, the professor dipped the paper into the indigo liquid. The surface of the paper quickly turned pale gold, and the color began to deepen slowly. The professor stared at his pocket watch, counting the seconds.
“One hundred eighty-two seconds.” He lowered the watch and pushed up his glasses. “Pass. The color transition is even, with no impurities.”
Allen Walker let out a sigh of relief and wrote down the data in his notebook.
The professor then moved to Cecilia’s group.
The Princess’s finished product was stored in an exquisite glass bottle. The liquid inside was an almost transparent pale blue, like the purest sky.
The professor dipped the test paper.
The paper instantly turned a brilliant gold, the glow steady and enduring.
“Two hundred twenty seconds,” the professor announced, his voice carrying a note of approval. “Very high purity.”
Soft exclamations rose from the surrounding students.
Cecilia inclined her head slightly, the same polite smile still on her face.
At that moment, the bell rang to signal the end of class.
Professor Horne clapped his hands. “Your assignment is to write a complete experiment report, including error analysis and improvement proposals. Submit it next Monday.”
The students began packing up. The clinking of glassware, the scraping of chairs, and the rising murmur of conversation blended together.
Ryan finished washing his tools, dried them with a soft cloth, and placed them back into his tool bag. Allen Walker had already left ahead of him, his figure quickly disappearing through the classroom door.
Ryan lifted his tool bag and walked toward the exit.
The air in the corridor was fresher than in the classroom, but the invisible pressure had not disappeared. The distant noise of students from other classes echoed through the stone corridors along with the chaotic rhythm of footsteps.
The voices gradually faded.
Ryan did not look back. His steps were steady, and the tool bag swung rhythmically at his side. Sunlight streamed in from the windows at the end of the corridor, casting bright patches of light across the floor.
The voices faded further, swallowed by the footsteps echoing up and down the stairwell.
Ryan stopped where he was and looked out the window. On the training field below, some students had already begun their morning practice, the glow of protective barriers flickering in the sunlight. In the distance, the clock tower struck the half-hour mark of nine.
He turned and walked toward the equipment room.
At the same time, in the greenhouse corridor on the western side of the academy—
Cecilia walked slowly along the glass hallway. Morning light filtered through the glass roof, slicing bright patches of light across the stone floor. On both sides, rows of magical plants stretched their leaves, and the air carried the damp scent of soil and flowers.
Ilis followed half a step behind her, her hair tied into a neat ponytail. Her violet eyes swept the surroundings.
At the end of the corridor was a small terrace with a set of wicker table and chairs.
Cecilia sat down and took a letter from the small bag she carried with her.
The envelope was dark purple, sealed with a complex emblem—not the royal crest, but an ancient and secretive symbol.
She opened the letter and quickly read through it.
Ilis stood at the entrance of the terrace with her back to Cecilia, like a silent barrier. Yet her ears twitched slightly, capturing the faint sounds drifting through the corridor.