Read Novel Full Chapter 78: Who is Neliel?
Chapter 78: Who is Neliel?
The dining hall stretched before us like a grand cathedral of marble and mahogany, its vaulted ceiling adorned with crystalline chandeliers that cast dancing shadows across the polished floors. The cacophony of student chatter echoed off the ornate walls, creating a symphony of aristocratic voices discussing everything from family politics to the latest gossip from the capital.
I found myself walking beside Alicia once more, her delicate steps careful and measured as she navigated through the white and gold uniforms. Her green hair caught the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows, and I noticed how her grip tightened on her meal tray whenever we passed particularly loud groups of students.
"Rumia," I had said, keeping my voice low as students filed past us in the corridor. "I need a favor."
She had looked up from her leather-bound notebook, her amber eyes sharp with curiosity. "What kind of favor, Harold?"
"Take Alicia under your wing today. She needs friends—real ones. Lucy and Regina are good people, aren’t they?"
A knowing smile had crossed Rumia’s face then. "Ah, playing the protective type, are we? Don’t worry, Hal."
"Harold?" Alicia’s voice was barely above a whisper, uncertainty coloring every syllable as I began to veer away from their path.
I paused, turning to meet her questioning gaze. Those green eyes held a mixture of confusion and what looked almost like panic. "I’m going to leave you with them today," I said gently, gesturing toward the approaching trio of girls. "They’re good people, Alicia. You should get to know them properly."
"But I—" she started, then caught herself, her cheeks flushing that familiar shade of pink. "I mean, yes... they are my friends, aren’t they?"
The happiness that bloomed across her features was like watching the sun break through storm clouds. She straightened her shoulders slightly, gathering what courage she could muster, and turned to follow Rumia.
"Alicia!" Lucy’s cheerful voice rang out as the blonde girl practically bounced over. "Come, you will get lost even in the dining hall."
I watched as Alicia’s expression transformed completely, genuine joy replacing the careful mask she usually wore. "Y...yes."
As the four girls settled at a nearby table, their conversation already flowing naturally, I allowed myself a small smile of satisfaction.
Anyway I had other matters to attend to.
My eyes swept across the dining hall, cataloging faces and seating arrangements with practiced efficiency. There—at the far end of the hall, surrounded by a cluster of admirers like a queen holding court. Lady Vivienne Ashworth, daughter of Duke Ashworth, one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. Her black hair was styled in an elaborate arrangement of braids and curls that probably took her maid an hour to perfect.
She was everything I expected from a duke’s daughter: poised, elegant, and completely aware of her own importance. The way she held her teacup, the practiced smile she bestowed upon her admirers, even the calculated laugh she gave at their undoubtedly mediocre jokes—it all spoke of years of training in the delicate art of noble society.
But I couldn’t approach her yet. Not directly. Someone of her status would be suspicious of any obvious attempts at friendship, especially from a relative unknown like myself. No, I needed to be more subtle, more strategic.
I was still scanning for the perfect opening when my attention was caught by a commotion near the windows. A lone figure sat at a small table, her meal half-finished as she studiously ignored the group of girls who had surrounded her like vultures circling prey.
Neliel.
Even from a distance, her otherworldly beauty was impossible to ignore.
I collected my own meal—roasted quail with herbs, fresh bread still warm from the ovens, and a selection of fruits that probably came from the royal gardens—and made my way toward the brewing confrontation.
"How did someone like you even get into this academy?" The lead harasser was a girl with chestnut hair styled in elaborate ringlets, her voice carrying the particular brand of cruelty that only came from absolute certainty in one’s social superiority.
"Answer us, peasant!" Another girl chimed in, her nasal tone grating against my ears.
"Did you spread your legs for the admissions committee?" The third girl’s suggestion was so crude that several nearby students turned to stare, some looking scandalized, others merely entertained by the spectacle.
"That must be it! How else could a nobody like you—"
"Excuse me," I interrupted smoothly. "Is this seat taken?"
The three girls turned toward me in unison, their expressions shifting from cruel satisfaction to surprise, and then to something approaching awe as they took in my appearance.
"W...who are you?" the ringleader stammered, her earlier bravado evaporating like morning mist.
I studied her for a moment, noting the slightly older cut of her uniform and the second-year insignia on her collar. "Just her classmate," I replied with casual indifference, then looked at Neliel with raised eyebrows.
She merely shrugged, a gesture so subtle it could barely be called acknowledgment, but I took it as permission and settled into the chair across from her.
"Truly magnificent," I said, taking a bite of the perfectly seasoned quail and allowing genuine appreciation to color my voice. "The culinary standards here really are world-class. Though I must admit, nothing quite compares to home cooking. My mother and sister have this way with herbs that even the royal chefs would envy."
The three girls stood frozen in an awkward tableau, clearly unsure how to proceed. Their carefully orchestrated harassment had been completely derailed by my unexpected intervention, and now they found themselves faced with someone who clearly outranked them socially.
I looked up from my meal, allowing mild concern to cross my features. "Is there something I can help you ladies with? You’ve been standing there for quite some time—surely your feet must be getting tired? I’d be happy to help you find suitable seating if you’re having trouble locating a table."
The perfect politeness of the offer, delivered with just the right tone of helpful concern, was more cutting than any direct insult could have been. The lead girl’s face flushed red with embarrassment and poorly suppressed anger.
"N...no, we’re perfectly fine," she managed through gritted teeth, shooting one last venomous glare at Neliel before stalking away, her companions trailing behind like chastened puppies.
I watched them go, then turned my attention back to Neliel with a wry smile. "You certainly seem to inspire strong emotions in people. I have to say, I’m rather envious of your popularity."
Neliel’s response was characteristically blunt. "Nora is a fool."
I nearly choked on my wine at the casual dismissal. "Nora—that’s the charming young lady with the ringlets, I presume?"
"Second-year. Viscount’s daughter. Thinks her father’s modest holdings give her the right to look down on others." Neliel’s voice held no emotion whatsoever, as if she were discussing the weather rather than someone who had just spent several minutes attempting to humiliate her publicly.
"And the others?"
"Followers. They have no thoughts of their own." She took another bite of her meal, chewing thoughtfully. "They will find new entertainment soon enough."
There was something almost refreshing about her matter-of-fact attitude. No tears, no gratitude for my intervention, no attempt to play the victim or curry favor. Just calm acceptance of the situation and a pragmatic assessment of her tormentors.
"You don’t seem particularly bothered by their... attention," I observed.
"Should I be?" She looked at me directly for the first time since I’d sat down, those otherworldly eyes meeting mine without flinching. "Their words carry no weight."
I found myself genuinely intrigued. "And what about my words? Do they carry weight?"
A ghost of a smile might have flickered across her lips, though it was gone so quickly I couldn’t be certain. "That remains to be seen."
"You know, most people would have thanked me for the timely rescue," I said, testing the waters.
"Most people would have expected thanks," she countered smoothly. "You did not intervene for my gratitude."
Perceptive. Very perceptive.
"What makes you so certain?"
"Because if gratitude was your goal, you would have made a more dramatic entrance. Challenged them directly, made yourself the hero of the piece. Instead, you simply... deflected. Made them feel foolish without explicitly defending me." She paused, considering. "It was elegantly done."
I leaned back in my chair, genuinely impressed despite myself. "You’re quite the observer."
"One learns to watch carefully when one is different." There was no self-pity in the statement, just simple fact.
"Different how?"
But she had already returned her attention to her meal, effectively ending that line of inquiry. I got the distinct impression that Neliel revealed information on her own terms, in her own time, and no amount of charm or curiosity would change that.
As I settled back into my meal, my mind wandered to the enigma that was Neliel. The question of how someone of apparently humble origins had managed to gain admission to one of the kingdom’s most prestigious academies gnawed at me like an persistent itch. The entrance examinations alone were notoriously difficult, requiring not only exceptional magical aptitude but also substantial fees that would bankrupt most common families. Yet here she was, clearly without the backing of noble wealth or family connections, somehow navigating the treacherous waters of aristocratic education.
Her clothing told a story of careful economy—well-maintained but simple, lacking the elaborate embellishments and expensive fabrics that marked true nobility. Her manner of speech, while articulate, occasionally carried inflections that suggested origins far from the capital’s refined drawing rooms. And yet... there were contradictions. The way she held herself spoke of training in etiquette and deportment. Her understanding of social dynamics was far too sophisticated for someone truly born to poverty.
A scholarship, perhaps? The academy did occasionally admit promising students from lesser backgrounds, though such opportunities were rare and fiercely competitive. Or maybe she had a patron—some noble benefactor who saw potential in her and decided to invest in her education. It wouldn’t be unprecedented, though it would certainly explain the hostility she faced from students like Nora, who would see such patronage as an affront to the natural order of things.
But something in Neliel’s demeanor suggested her circumstances were far more complex than a simple rags-to-riches tale. There was an otherworldly quality to her that went beyond mere beauty or intelligence. When she had looked at me with those ancient eyes, I had felt as though she was seeing far more than a fellow student making polite conversation.
A mystery for another day, I decided, taking another bite of the excellently prepared quail. Building any meaningful relationship—whether for strategic purposes or genuine connection—required patience and careful cultivation. Pressing too hard, too soon, would only cause her to withdraw further. Better to let trust develop naturally, to prove through consistent actions that I was different from the others who sought either to use her or drive her away.
The soft chime of the academy’s bronze bells drew my attention, signaling the shift between meal periods. As if summoned by clockwork, the faculty began to emerge from their private dining chamber, a procession of robes and academic regalia that commanded automatic respect from the student body.
And then I saw our beautiful Herbology teacher
As beautiful as ever. The more I looked at her, the more I wanted to conquer her.
But my admiration for her ethereal beauty quickly soured as my gaze fell upon her companion.
Professor Brendan Rotten walked beside her with the swagger of a man who believed himself irresistible, his broad shoulders thrown back and his chest puffed out like some sort of territorial display.
Even from across the dining hall, I could see the way his eyes lingered on Elara’s form, tracking her movements with a twisted intensity. When she spoke to another professor, he would lean in unnecessarily close, his hand finding excuses to brush against her arm or shoulder. When she laughed at someone else’s comment, his jaw would tighten with barely concealed jealousy.
The worst part was how oblivious—or perhaps diplomatically blind—she seemed to his attentions. Elara treated him with the same professional courtesy she extended to all her colleagues, seemingly unaware that every gesture of friendship was being interpreted as something far more personal by her increasingly possessive shadow.
I had encountered men like Brendan Rotten before. They wore their masculinity like armor, believing that physical strength and aggressive confidence entitled them to whatever they desired. They saw gentleness as weakness and mistook professional courtesy for romantic interest. Worst of all, they harbored deep resentments against anyone they perceived as beneath them—commoners, foreigners, anyone who dared to achieve success through merit rather than birthright.
As the faculty procession disappeared into their private chambers, I glanced at the ornate clock mounted above the great fireplace. The afternoon classes would begin soon, and according to my carefully memorized schedule, the next period would be Physical Education—taught by none other than Professor Brendan Rotten himself.
I finished my meal with deliberate calm, taking the time to properly fold my napkin and gather my belongings with the unhurried precision of someone who had nothing to fear. Around me, other students were beginning to stir, collecting their books and supplies for the afternoon sessions.
Time to see what our esteemed professor of Physical Education has in store for us, I mused with a smirk.