When in Rosmayne . . .
It takes time to truly explore the capital, so Lisabelle and Viena spent the next day much the same as before — strolling the city from dawn to dusk. They left the house at eight in the morning and returned for lunch at one, only to head back out again until sunset. Lisabelle took Viena to places she often frequented, mainly clothing and garment shops. She taught her how to spot defects and poor stitching in a product, and — being the curious cat she was — Viena listened intently, peppering her with questions at every turn.
But today was Monda, the first day of the week. Eager for another little adventure, Viena stood outside Lisabelle's door, banging her fists against it.
“Lily! Let’s go! I want to see the flea market you told me about yesterday!”
When the door finally swung open, Viena froze in awe. Before her stood Lisabelle in a sharp, immaculate outfit. Her lustrous white cap and gleaming half-cape shimmered brilliantly, even in the dim corridor.
“WOOOAAH! WHAT IS THIS?! I’VE NEVER SEEN THIS BEFORE!”
“Er . . . Haven’t I told you yet?” Lisabelle said, smoothing her cape. “I attend the academy on weekdays.”
“Does everyone wear the same thing? Look at that hat! And—and that shiny cape! You look super cool!”
A flush crept across Lisabelle’s cheeks. She twirled the edge of her cape with a smug little flourish, her lips curving in a self-satisfied grin.
“Hehehe. Is that so? Well, the cap is standard for all students, but only three people get to wear the cape. You have to be a top ranker for that. Honor students only. 'The Perianthes' only.”
“Amazing! It sounds so fun! Can I go to the academy too?”
Lisabelle's grin faded slightly. Now that she thought about it, Viena had likely never had the chance to attend formal schooling, given her circumstances. A pang stirred in her chest — in Rosmayne, education was mandatory for all children. The state covered expenses fully until the second coming-of-age ceremony.
“Listen . . . It’s a bit difficult to bring you along. The academy’s security is tight. Unregistered people get cast out right away. Her Majesty the Queen is especially strict about that sort of thing.”
“But . . . I want to go . . .”
Viena’s dispirited face made it all the harder. Lisabelle averted her eyes, fumbling for the right words.
“Look, I—”
Just then, Randia emerged from the bathroom. He’d overheard everything and was already thinking of a way to gently steer the conversation.
“Viena,” he said calmly, “behave. Lisabelle needs to go now, or she’ll be late.”
“But I want to see the academy!”
She wants to see the school — that’s the heart of it, Randia thought. The resolution was simple.
“All right. We’ll accompany her to the entrance. But you must promise not to make a scene.”
“YES, I PROMISE!” Viena snapped a salute, mimicking the city guards she’d admired the other day.
“After that, if you’re still restless, we’ll visit the cathedral. There’s plenty for you to learn there.”
Viena nodded so enthusiastically her curls bounced. Relieved that the matter had settled, Lisabelle exhaled quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Not long after, the three of them stepped out of the house. As they walked, Viena noticed how warmly the neighborhood greeted Lisabelle. There was a quiet pride in the way people smiled at her — proud to have a Perianthes representing them at the academy. An old woman offered her a warm glass of milk; a middle-aged man handed her a bright red apple. It was a simple but radiant sight — the kind of scene that spoke of hope and steadfast support for promising youth.
“Hm? Do you always get all these treats, or is today special?” Viena asked, tilting her head.
“These? Oh, I get them every day. And to be honest, this is actually less than usual.”
“Eh?! How come?!”
Lisabelle chuckled softly. “Don’t get me wrong. I never expect any of this. It’s just kind of them to do it every day. Sometimes even I wonder, ‘Don’t they get tired of this?’ or ‘Are they planning to keep this up until I graduate?’”
She tossed the apple lightly to Viena.
“Here. Have a taste.”
Viena bit into it. The flesh was crisp but sharply sour. Still tolerable — and she wasn’t one to waste food.
“Kinda sour,” she mumbled, scrunching her nose.
“Huft. As I thought.”
“Are they giving you scraps?”
“No,” Lisabelle replied, slipping her hands behind her back. “Mr. Bibo just has a strange palate and a dull nose. He can hardly tell good apples from bad. That’s why I help him restock every now and then.”
Randia and Viena had assumed Lisabelle was only on the receiving end — but clearly, they’d been wrong. Her relationship with her neighbors ran both ways.
“I thought they were just leftovers or something. You’re not angry, are you?”
“Why should I be angry? What makes you think that?”
“Um . . . because you didn’t smile? Not even a little?”
“Do I have to?”
“Err . . . .”
Listening quietly, Randia found himself pleased. The rapport between Viena and Lisabelle was blossoming faster and smoother than he had dared to hope. It hadn’t taken a year, or a month — not even a week — for the two to begin carving out space for one another.
"Usually, it was something spontaneous, not something to think over. People smile when they accept gifts," said Randia.
"Yeah, say someone who never smile," Lisabelle shot back at Randia, smirking.
“I was speaking theoretically,” he deadpanned. “Of course there are exceptions.”
Lisabelle sighed and adjusted her oversized bowtie.
"It's something reciprocal, Mr. Ran. They are all transactional relationships. Every gesture is a sow to reap."
"Papa, can you re-explain? Lily is confusing," Viena tugged at the hem of Randia’s tunic.
"She said it's simply a take-and-give. They want something or will want something in return for all those gifts."
"But what would they want from you?"
"A bit of this and that, or even something simple as a little special treatment. Most people believe Perianthes are bound to be someone important. Well, statistically speaking, they are correct. Only two Perianthes graduates live a life that led to an unexpected outcome."
As they spoke, the academy buildings finally loomed into view. It was a vast complex — sprawling halls, expansive training grounds, and a grand amphitheater. Even at a glance, it was clear how much wealth had been poured into its construction. Monuments of long-gone heroes stood tall and unblemished. The gardens were meticulously pruned, the flowers and trees arranged like offerings — a resting paradise for the actors of the realm’s long history.
“It’s all . . . white!”
Viena gasped, shouted, clapped. Her heart pounded, her gaze drinking in every inch of the sprawling landmark.
“It’s this big? How come I didn’t see it the first day?!”
“Maybe,” Lisabelle mused, “because you’re just not tall enough to spot the minarets and domes from afar?”
“If I get taller, I can play inside too, right?! Right?!”
“Uh, oh . . . I suppose? Let’s work on that first, shall we?”
Lisabelle, caught off guard by her enthusiasm, blinked. Randia, however, had seen it coming — he calmly hooked his fingers into the back of Viena’s collar and tugged gently.
“Remember your promise,” Randia murmured.
“I—I know!”
They strolled a little farther, their talk drifting toward what lay within the academy grounds. Yet Lisabelle kept her descriptions measured. She remembered her father’s old saying: When the eagle speaks of the sky, the duck drowns itself. She spoke just long enough to spark curiosity, never so long that it burned out.
“Surely, surely! Everyone here is so special!” Viena beamed.
“But special doesn’t always mean kind. Remember what I just told you?”
“The two Perianthes?”
"One of them vanished into thin air, some said he is in pursuit of a strange magic. However, the other one . . . ."
.
.
.
". . . He becomes a criminal psychopath. A genius serial-killer who still remains the top bounty of the whole continent. His name is Sual, The Question Man."
Randia cleared his throat and gently took Viena’s hand.
“I think it’s time, Lisabelle.”
“Hm. You’re right.”
“Aw . . . I wish I could go in too . . .”
Lisabelle crouched, folding her arms, tilting her head thoughtfully as she locked eyes with Viena.
“Listen, Vivi. There’s a lot about the academy I haven’t told you. And most of it is bitter. We’ll talk more about it later. If you still insist after that, I’ll think of a way.”
“Really?! Yay!”
Viena flung her arms around Lisabelle, hugging her tight. Flustered, Lisabelle’s cheeks colored; she hurriedly pushed her back, scowling in embarrassment.
“Aah! S-stay away, pipsqueak! You’ll mess up my bowtie!”
“Eheheh, sorry about that.”
Lisabelle sighed, but her eyes softened slightly.
“There’s a bare minimum, though. You’re trying to hide it, but kid — you can’t even read, can you?”
“Eh? W-what? I c-c-can read! I totally can! I’m good with numbers too!”
Lisabelle arched a brow, smirking doubtfully.
“When I get home, I’ll teach you. Reading first, then numbers.”
“Okay!”
“Good. Now—give me your hands.”
She raised her palms. Viena grinned and clapped both of hers into Lisabelle’s — a crisp double high-five. Then, with a last glance back, Lisabelle turned and headed toward the gate.
Viena and Randia stood together, watching her go. Randia’s gaze sharpened, catching subtle details that escaped the girl beside him. Only a few meters from parting, Lisabelle’s gait shifted. Her steps grew swift, deliberate, laced with purpose. Her face hardened — serious, keenly judging, tinged with distrust. Even those older than her gave way without a word.
"Lily is kind of cool, right? Although she is cranky sometimes."
“Yes,” Randia agreed. “You should learn from her while you can.”
“You two are kind of alike, you know?”
Randia’s lips twitched — whether in amusement or reproach, it was hard to tell. “It seems your observation skills still need sharpening. Let’s go.”
“Let’s go!”
Far from where the three had stood, a pair of eyes watched with measured intent.
They belonged to a girl seated on a high balcony, her posture flawless, her teacup poised delicately between slender fingers. The soft clink of porcelain punctuated the quiet morning air as she sipped, gaze never straying from the distant figures below.
“You seem to be in rather fine spirits this morning, my lady. Shall I pour you another?” her attendant asked smoothly.
“I’ve simply found myself a new little treat to savor, George,” she murmured, her lips curling into the faintest smile. “Less sugar this time.”
“Understood.”