The room smelled of dust, old parchment, and dried mana ink.
It had become their unofficial war room—quiet, hidden, and far from the ears of anyone who mattered. The old council chamber wasn’t used anymore, but Elyra had claimed it weeks ago... and Noel never asked why.
He stood near the table, arms crossed, while Elyra moved a scroll aside and laid down a thick, folded list.
"They finalized it," she said. "Twenty names. Across all three years."
Noel didn’t move.
"The new S-Class dormitory roster."
She unrolled it slowly.
Neatly inked names glowed faintly under the candlelight. In a perfect, almost ceremonial order.
Selene von Iskandar
Elyra von Estermont
Seraphina of Valor
Dior of Valor
Myriel von Astralis
And then, just a few lines down—
Noel Thorne
He blinked once. But didn’t react, he expected that much, maybe others don’t know him but Nicolas does.
Just read the rest in silence. Some names he recognized from whispers in training halls. Others he didn’t know at all—but the presence of second- and third-year elites made one thing clear: this wasn’t a popularity contest.
It was a battlefield lineup.
Elyra watched his face.
"The announcement will be public soon. Once it is, your voice—your vote—will carry a different weight."
Noel raised an eyebrow.
"Alright, this makes it better for us."
"Yes, you are right."
He glanced back down at the names.
So this is how they shift the scales. Quietly from the inside.
"Twenty students," he muttered.
"And every single one of them carries more weight than a hundred other students put together."
Elyra nodded once.
"Which is why I want you to speak to one of them."
"Who?"
She turned another page.
"Selene von Iskandar."
Noel kept staring at the scroll for a few more seconds before letting out a quiet sigh.
"Why me?"
Elyra didn’t look up from the second page she was marking.
"Excuse me?"
"Why do I have to talk to Selene?" he clarified. "You could’ve sent anyone."
Now she did look up.
"Because I saw you training near her at the start of the year."
"You exchanged words. That already puts you ahead of most people."
Noel tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Ah. So that’s the bar."
"Yes."
He crossed his arms.
"And what about the rest?"
Elyra rolled up the scroll with practiced efficiency.
"I’ll take care of it. I know them already—I actually have rapport."
A pause.
Then she added, without venom:
"Besides, let’s be honest. You don’t exactly have the... social grace to charm undecided voters."
Noel blinked once. Deadpan.
"Thanks for the glowing review."
"Just trying to manage resources efficiently."
He pushed off the desk with a sigh.
"Right. I’ll go find the ice wall."
"Try not to make it worse."
"No promises."
He walked toward the door, muttering to himself.
"See you later, I guess."
Elyra didn’t respond. Just smiled faintly as he disappeared into the hall.
’Still more reliable than most. Even when he’s impossible.’
The training grounds behind the eastern towers were mostly empty at that hour. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the stone platforms, their surfaces worn smooth by years of footwork and mana flares.
And in the center of the far ring, Selene von Iskandar was moving.
Graceful.
Precise.
Unshaken.
In her hand, a slender wand carved from pale wood glowed faintly at the tip with mana. Each motion she made traced lines of raw arcane control—circles, strikes, directional pulses—all too clean to be decorative, too sharp to be anything but combat practice.
Noel watched her for a moment from a distance.
Then stepped forward without hesitation.
She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t stop.
He waited until her next sequence finished before speaking.
"Selene."
She halted.
Turned just slightly. Just enough to glance at him. ust that piercing cyanic gaze.
"I need to talk to you."
A pause.
Then she spoke—quiet, flat.
"Talk."
"I’ll keep it short," Noel said, stepping onto the platform.
"I’m here on behalf of Seraphina. She’s running for president. We want your support."
Selene lowered her wand and wiped the handle with a cloth, slow and methodical.
"My decision is made."
Noel blinked once.
"...Right."
Selene said nothing more.
She returned to her stance, standing straight in the center of the platform. She wore the standard training uniform—modified for colder climates, with reinforced sleeves and a high collar. Her long blue hair was pulled into a loose braid that swayed with every movement.
In her hand, the wand barely flickered.
Her cyan eyes, glowing faintly, were now focused on the orb of magic hovering between her fingers. A pale-blue construct, spinning slowly with layers of ice mana and internal compression.
Noel exhaled.
"You don’t like politics. I get that."
"But you know what Dior becoming president means."
Selene didn’t stop her casting.
"It’s not about liking anything."
"Then what is it about?"
The orb of magic expanded slightly, then compressed tighter into a fist-sized core. She turned her wand, carving a silent rune in the air, and the mana held.
"I made my choice. That’s all."
Noel stepped closer, arms crossed.
"So, who are you going to vote for?"
Selene finally looked at him again
"I don’t owe explanations."
"Right," he said softly. "Thanks for the talk."
She nod.
Didn’t speak again.
Just turned back toward the center of the ring.
And resumed her training.
Noel descended the stone path that led away from the training grounds, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly toward the sky.
The wind brushed past, dry and cold.
His steps echoed softly against the tile.
Selene had made herself perfectly clear.
No hostility.
No debate.
Just an immovable wall of self-contained certainty.
’Well, that could’ve gone worse.’
’In the novel, she didn’t vote at all. Stayed out of it like everything else.’
’At least this time she’s choosing.’
He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
But it was different.
And that mattered.
’That’s already a change. One more thread pulled out of the noose this world used to wear.’
He exhaled through his nose.
Half a sigh. Half a breath of relief.
’Now we just wait to see which way she tips the scale.’
Elyra was in her usual spot.
Second chair from the window, report folder open in front of her, the soft glow of a mana lamp casting steady light across the desk.
Noel walked in without knocking.
No need.
He shut the door behind him and dropped into the chair across from her like it was routine.
"Didn’t work."
Elyra looked up from her notes.
"She refused?"
"She said she already voted."
Elyra tilted her head slightly.
"For Seraphina?"
Noel shrugged.
"Didn’t say. But not Dior. That much I’m sure of."
She nodded once, thoughtful.
"That’s better than expected."
Noel leaned back, arms crossed behind his head.
"Doesn’t feel like a win."
"It’s still a shift," Elyra said calmly.
Noel looked at the ceiling for a moment, then back at her.
"Let’s hope that shift doesn’t tilt the wrong way."
Elyra closed the folder in front of her with care.
"If it does, we’ll correct it."