“No.”
Headmaster Morrison still refused.
“Why not?” Professor Moses asked, forcing patience. “Luo Wei and Gladys are both nobles. One’s a royal princess; the other is the Wolf Lord’s daughter. Which of them is unsuitable?”
“Strictly speaking, Gladys doesn’t count as nobility,” Professor Tobias interjected. “The Ice Wolf Tribe may dominate the frozen plains, but her father holds no title.”
To most people on the Western Continent, the Ice Wolf Tribe were barbarians—no gods worshiped, no allegiance to a kingdom. Even a tribal chief didn’t qualify as nobility.
“Then cross out Gladys too and keep Luo Wei,” Professor Moses said crisply. She turned to the Headmaster. “Asa, well?”
What else could he say? Another refusal would look obstinate.
“Fine—if the child agrees,” he said with a nod.
Professor Moses exhaled in relief. “She will.”
Professor Tobias’s brow pinched. Would Luo Wei really agree? Her reply earlier—though cut off by the knock—had clearly been a refusal.
After a moment’s thought she said, “Let me speak with her.”
“Alright,” Professor Moses agreed. “I’ll check on Axina.”
A healthy girl suddenly “ill”—she needed clarity. If it was serious, the Academy could authorize a healing potion.
Outside the chapel, Luo Wei was strolling lakeside with two Death Penalty Squad companions.
“Why were you two called in?” she asked Hol Felix and Gladys Sharp.
She understood her own summons—Axina’s recommendation. But them?
“Professor Moses wants us as alternates,” Hol shrugged. “They were going to make you an alternate too, but Axina asked to swap.”
“Axina is sick,” Gladys said.
“That’s a sickness of the heart.” Luo Wei stopped, gaze on the calm lake. “You agreed to be alternates?”
“Sure,” Hol stopped too. “It’s only alternate spots. We might never go on.”
“I also—agreed,” Gladys said, edging closer. “Luo Wei, will you compete?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Too much hassle. Cuts into my naps,” Luo Wei said, casually tossing out the flimsy excuse.
Hol and Gladys stared, wide‑eyed. Skip the tournament—over naps? Seriously?
Then they remembered her “glorious” record: eighteen truancies for the sake of a big bed and forty class credits docked. Maybe it even made sense.
A cool evening breeze teased the long willow fronds as April’s first night slipped in beneath a hushed moon.
One night passed; a fresh day arrived.
By the time the sun’s rim cleared the mountain, Luo Wei had already ridden three full laps on her chestnut.
Just a warm‑up. After that she joined classmates for team drills in mounted swordsmanship.
Coach Cork Tolan treated everyone exactly the same. Even frail‑looking girls were expected to lower lances and charge like knights.
Anyone who dodged training or faked effort met his other form: a ruthless point‑deduction machine wiping out hard‑earned classroom credits.
Beyond mounted swordsmanship and lance bouts, Junior Division students had to learn polo—their final exam would literally be a polo match.
What intrigued Luo Wei was the route polo had taken here. In her original world, Western polo had come from Asia. This world had no Asia—yet polo still spread?
Polo in the West had always been a pure aristocrats’ game. That part never changed. Even in modern times it remained the most luxurious sport on land.
The merely well‑off played golf; only the truly rich played polo. Besides professionals, players were royals, nobles, or tycoons—no one else.
After equestrian class Luo Wei was drenched.
Her classmates were no better—backs soaked, panting like dogs in summer heat.
Even Axina had abandoned her cultivated aloofness: wisps plastered to her brow, sweat dripping, face flushed apple‑red.
They led their horses out and met at the exit. One glance—no words.
Before, Axina would have fired off a few barbs—or at least skewered Luo Wei silently with those blue eyes a few dozen times before lifting her chin and sweeping off.
Today the lifted chin belonged to Luo Wei. She cast Axina a scornful sidelong look, then led her chestnut through the gate first.
Axina bit down hard; fury reddened her eyes.
Indulging in childishness for once, Luo Wei was in fine spirits as she stabled the horse and hurried back to change.
Riding gear was heavy—broad panels of metal plating built in—cumbersome to move in.
Changed into ordinary clothes, she headed downstairs with the sweat‑soaked kit.
The moment she stepped outside, a nightmare voice sounded overhead.
“Luo Wei, three o’clock this afternoon—come to the office…”
Professor Tobias’s owl had been lurking at the dorm entrance. Spotting her, the two tufts atop its head waggled like little pigtails.
Owls were called “Athena’s sacred bird,” but this particular specimen didn’t look especially bright.
If she bribed it with a few field mice, would it pretend it hadn’t seen her?
It kept calling. Luo Wei sighed, heavy. “Alright, alright—I’ll go.”
Satisfied by confirmation, the owl pricked its ear tufts as though receiving a signal, then spread its wings and flew off.
Luo Wei watched it disappear, shoulders slumping.
Forget it. The dirty gear could wait.
At three sharp Luo Wei arrived at Professor Tobias’s office.
“Professor, you wanted me?”
“Yes—something to discuss.” Professor Tobias rose from her desk, moved to the guest chairs, and gestured for Luo Wei to sit.
“Luo Wei, have you reconsidered the tournament?”
Luo Wei remained standing. “Sorry to disappoint you, Professor, but I don’t want to participate.”
“Sit—let’s talk a while,” Professor Tobias said, unexpectedly removing her wide black brimmed hat. She revealed a head of salt‑and‑pepper hair. “Students are always curious about my age, Luo Wei. Can you guess?”
Her hair was coiled high in a bun—perfect for anchoring the hat—but that clearly wasn’t the point.
Luo Wei gave her temples a quick glance, then lowered her eyes. “I can’t guess, Professor. You look very young.”
Professor Tobias’s face looked like that of a woman in her thirties—but her hair was odd. The portion usually exposed beneath the hat’s brim was brown; the coiled bun was almost entirely white.
Hair that white suggested at least sixty—yet it was still so thick. Luo Wei truly couldn’t guess.
…
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