The deadline for the diplomacy assignment was the end of the week. Tirel Keira pushed open the heavy library door while vaguely recalling yesterday's exchange in the greenhouse. That gaze from the Duke's daughter, Florance. The quiet, decisive motion of closing her fan. (There's no point worrying about it. Today I'll focus on the assignment.) The library at Etreille Academy was three stories tall with one hundred twenty reading seats. Morning light streamed through tall, narrow windows, and the scent of wood shelves mingled with paper. Keira thought that in her past life, she would have been so accustomed to e-books that she'd probably have gotten lost here instead. But this place was comfortable. Quiet, with no one approaching her strangely, and plenty of books. The assignment theme was "The Evolution of Diplomatic Policy in the Fertina Kingdom." It mainly traced the history of relations with neighboring countries from over a century ago, and she had a list of reference materials in hand. Keira began checking the spines of books in order from the shelves at the back of the first floor. History books. Treaty collections. Diplomatic records. Excerpts from royal documents. Her finger stopped on one spine. *"History of the Carelia Pass Conflict—One Hundred Twenty Years of Records and Complete Ceasefire Agreements"* The letters on the spine were slightly faded. An old book. When she pulled it out, the cover was worn, and the leather edges were peeling slightly. She opened it. The first few pages were maps. A national border drawn through mountainous terrain. And on either side of that line, "Fertina Territory" and "Valdikion Territory" were written. Turning the pages further, numbers appeared. *"Combined war deaths of both nations: 8,432 (estimated). Fertina side: 4,100. Valdikion side: 4,332."* Eight thousand. Keira stood motionless in front of the shelf for a while. The numbers slowly began to take on meaning in her head. Eight thousand. Not all at once, but gradually over two years. *"Armed conflict over mining rights escalated in three stages, and a ceasefire was established through third-party mediation. With the signing of the Carelia Treaty, the pass region was designated as a demilitarized buffer zone, but neither side formally renounced territorial claims, and the dispute remains unresolved to this day."* To this day. Keira read those words again. It was still ongoing. A problem that began one hundred twenty years ago was still unresolved. The treaty had merely covered it up; the substance hadn't changed. (……Rion is studying here.) She tried not to think about it. Deep thought would lead to complications. It had nothing to do with her. She could just use it as reference material for the assignment. The necessary information was there. She could return it to the shelf, choose another book, and continue with her work. Her hand stopped. Keira sighed and pulled out a notebook from her bag. In handwriting that couldn't be called neat, she began copying the page contents. War casualties, the course of the conflict, the main provisions of the Carelia Treaty. After finishing, she wondered briefly why she was doing this, but she closed the notebook and returned the book to the shelf. (It's for the assignment. That's all.) She told herself this and headed toward the reading seat by the window. --- Within about an hour, she had gathered all the reference materials for the assignment. While organizing the contents at the reading seat, she noticed the outside growing brighter. Students who had finished morning classes were moving through the hallways. The library itself remained quiet, but distant laughter could be heard beyond the doors. Keira closed her book and stood up. As she walked down the hallway, she heard the sound of metal striking. A clashing sound. Not wooden swords—something with more density. Her feet naturally turned toward the sound. The training grounds were on the east side of the main building. As she headed that way, the sound became clearer. Two strikes, three strikes, then two again. Not a steady rhythm—it stopped, then accelerated. The wooden door was half-open. Keira peered inside and stopped. In the center of the training grounds, Valdikion Rion was facing three opponents. Upper-year students. They had build. Even though the three were attacking at staggered intervals, Rion handled them all with minimal movement. When one came from the side, he shifted just half a step to avoid; when another struck down from above, he deflected while pressing the sword tip of the next opponent—his movements were flawless. Beautiful, she thought. As swordwork. But there was something subtle within it. In the edges of that flowing motion, an intensity that wasn't quite controlled seeped through. It was too precise, and because of that, seemed to lack composure. As if he were striking something with his sword. One of the upper-year students lunged. Rion stepped in and deflected. The opponent staggered and dropped to one knee. The other two closed the distance simultaneously. Rion's gaze shifted for just a moment— Their eyes met. His movement stopped. "[cold]……This is not a spectacle." His voice was low. Devoid of warmth. The air in the training grounds shifted slightly. The three upper-year students, drawn by this, looked toward Keira. Keira kept her hand on the edge of the door and paused for a moment. "[gentle]If it's not a spectacle, why are you doing it in the training grounds?" Rion fell silent. One of the upper-year students gave a small cough. The three exchanged glances, gave a light bow, and withdrew to the corner of the training grounds. Only two remained in the wide space. Rion still held his sword, watching Keira for a moment. Then he let out a small laugh. "[sarcastic]……That's true, isn't it." Keira froze involuntarily. It was a smile. Sarcastic, but genuine. Completely different from his usual expression—courteous and calculated. The tension between his brows had eased, and the scar above his left eyebrow moved slightly. Something pulsed deep in her chest. (——Wait.) Keira quickly looked away. She focused on the stone joints of the hallway wall. Get a grip, she told herself. She'd learned the hard way about this sort of thing in her past life. Nothing good had ever come from getting close to someone with a nice smile. After years of idol work, seeing hundreds of smiles, the most important lesson she'd learned was that. "Have you finished gathering materials for the assignment?" Rion had returned to his usual tone. "Mostly." "Then let's do the final compilation in the greenhouse this evening. I'll come by later." She had no reason to refuse. Keira nodded slightly and stepped away from the training grounds door. As she walked down the hallway, she noticed her temples were slightly warm. (It's the temperature. The training grounds are hot.) She decided that was the reason. --- The greenhouse in the evening was a completely different place from the morning. The light from the sun, tilted toward the west, stained the glass orange, and the shadows of leaves created complex patterns on the floor. The scent of medicinal herbs was slightly stronger. The caretaker, Rosette, seemed to have left, and the back area was quiet. Keira sat on her usual bench and spread out her notebook. Rion arrived a little later. He had changed back into his uniform, and the dust from the training grounds had been brushed away. His usual composed posture. "I'll verify the materials." Rion sat beside her and spread out his own documents. It was close, Keira thought, but the assignment took priority. If she organized the evolution of diplomatic policy chronologically and summarized the treaty contents and current situation, it would be complete. Rion read aloud from the materials. Keira wrote the summary. For a while, there was only the sound of the quill pen running and distant birdsong between them. "This phrasing here might be better changed. 'Continued tension' is less accurate than 'unresolved territorial dispute.'" Keira answered while writing. "You're right. The instructor seems to prefer precise terminology." "Do you enjoy the diplomacy class?" It was a somewhat unexpected question. "Well. I find it interesting, at least. Though I'm not sure I'll ever have a chance to use it." "I think you will have the opportunity. Your approach is suited to diplomacy." Keira glanced sideways at Rion while moving her pen. "What do you mean?" "You don't make others wary. But you're not easily swayed either. Few people can do both." It was said casually. Whether it was praise or analysis was unclear. Probably both. "You're the same way." "I don't get swayed. I'm the type who makes others wary." "You're self-aware about it?" Rion laughed again. This time there was sound—a small, restrained laugh. The work continued. The orange light gradually faded. Wind rustled the leaves outside the greenhouse. The scent of medicinal herbs and earth. The evening air was softer than the daytime and slightly cool. Keira finished writing the final paragraph of the summary and set down her pen. She thought she'd rest for a moment. As she leaned back against the bench, she could see the leaves of the plants in front of her swaying slowly in the light. Rosette's Lavis—the medicinal herb used for healing salves with a blue tint—caught the evening sun and appeared a different color than usual. The scent of medicinal herbs. Soft light. The distant sound of wind. Her eyelids grew heavy. (Just a little more……) Her consciousness faded there. --- Rion noticed the change in the presence beside him while doing a final check of the materials. Keira's head was resting gently on his shoulder. She was asleep. The quill pen slowly slipped from her fingers and rolled across the floor. She was completely, deeply asleep. Rion froze. One second. Two seconds. The thought of waking her passed through his mind. But—his body wouldn't move. There was no reason to wake her. The assignment was nearly complete. All that remained was for him to verify it. Rion slowly turned his attention back to the documents. The light in the greenhouse faded further. Wind blew outside the window. The medicinal herbs swayed. The bird calls grew distant. "[whispers]……Peaceful." He murmured it in a voice that reached no one. Not a calculated word, not a strategy. Not the expression of someone gazing at the northeastern mountains at night, nor the courteous, friendly mask—just an honest utterance in response to the tranquility of this greenhouse. Even Rion was slightly surprised by it. --- The next morning, Keira woke up in her bed in her dormitory room. She stared at the ceiling for a while, then tilted her neck. She remembered writing in the greenhouse. She remembered finishing the final paragraph. After that—nothing. (……When did I get back?) Her bag was on the bedside table. She took out her notebook and opened it. The assignment summary she'd written yesterday was there. All the way to the final paragraph, in her own handwriting. (I must have written it, but I have no memory of it……) Keira closed the notebook with a snap. It wasn't like Rion wrote it for her or anything—that couldn't be. The handwriting was hers. She probably wrote it while half-asleep and somehow made it back on her own. Still, she had no memory of it. Alone in her dormitory room, she said out loud, "Ugh." How pathetic. As a countess's daughter, she was really falling apart. After fidgeting for a while, she dressed in her uniform and left the room. --- There was a crowd in front of the hallway bulletin board. It was unusual for the morning commute time. Keira casually approached and peered through the gap between people. On white paper, written in large, clear letters: *"Next month, a Bilateral Friendship Commemorative Ball will be held at Etreille Academy. In