Chapter 7: Intervention
For Ilya, theoretical courses had never been much of a problem.
As a student majoring in Martial Studies, although he consistently lagged behind during practical training, he more than made up for it through his written examinations.
"...Sigh."
Truthfully, there was little point in striving this hard anymore.
He had already resolved to transfer to the Magic Department once the semester ended, and no amount of studying would ever erase the wall that talent had placed between him and the truly gifted swordsmen of his generation.
Even so, the academy still considered a student’s academic standing during departmental transfers, making his GPA one of the few things he could still control.
His practical scores had always been the weakest part of his record, so over the past three months, he had compensated for them the only way he knew how.
By consistently earning near-perfect marks in every theoretical subject, he managed to keep his overall grades respectable enough that his practical failures alone were never enough to drag him into academic failure.
It was hardly an impressive achievement by the standards of the Knight Department, but it was sufficient to keep every path ahead of him from closing completely.
"Here, professor."
"Ah, yes," the professor replied as he accepted the answer sheet with a nod. "You may leave."
With that, Ilya stepped out of the lecture hall.
As the heavy doors closed behind him, he could still feel the eyes of the remaining students following his back, many of whom were still occupied with their examination papers.
He had long since grown accustomed to those gazes.
They could whisper about him behind his back, mock his failures, or spread whatever rumors they pleased throughout the academy, but that was all they could ever do.
More than half of the Knight Department consistently scored below him in written examinations, including the very students who never missed an opportunity to ridicule him after another defeat on the training grounds.
Of course, that accomplishment meant very little in the grand scheme of things.
The Knight Department wasn’t established to produce scholars but warriors, and no amount of top marks in military history or combat theory would erase the fact that he lacked the natural prowess expected of a swordsman.
In the end, a knight was judged by the strength of his blade, not by the answers he wrote on an examination paper.
"Heh."
Ilya made his way toward one of the academy’s beverage artifacts stationed along the corridor.
It resembled a tall wooden cabinet engraved with magic circles, with its front lined with crystal windows displaying rows of sealed metal containers that had been kept chilled through preservation enchantments.
A small plaque listing today’s selection was mounted on the side, while below it was a narrow slot where students deposited coins before making their choice.
After slipping a coin into the artifact, Ilya lightly tapped the rune corresponding to his drink.
The magic circle glowed for a moment before the mechanism inside whirred, and with a satisfying metallic clink, a chilled canister slid into the retrieval compartment below.
Ilya bent down, picked it up, and examined the familiar label.
It was coffee.
A small smile found its way onto his face.
Whoever had first thought to preserve brewed coffee inside magically sealed metal canisters deserved far more recognition than they received.
Although vending machines didn’t exist in this world, the artifact before him fulfilled almost exactly the same purpose.
Sometimes, Ilya couldn’t help but feel that humanity shared some sort of collective instinct, because despite having an entirely different technological foundation, the people of this world had somehow arrived at a solution remarkably similar to the one from his previous life.
Pulling back the metal tab, Ilya took a long sip and savored the familiar bitterness.
The chilled coffee flowed down his throat, washing away a portion of the drowsiness from the sleepless night he had spent submerged in an ice bath.
"...."
As Ilya rounded the corner of the corridor, a familiar face immediately caught his attention.
Standing at the far end was Adrian, the son of a small barony, though it was difficult to miss the three noblemen surrounding him in a loose semicircle that effectively blocked every path forward.
Rather than immediately intervening, Ilya stopped and observed.
"You’ve been avoiding us lately, Adrian," one of the noblemen said. "Has your family finally managed to repay what they owe?"
Adrian remained silent.
"I didn’t think so. Our family was generous enough to extend your father that loan when the barony was on the verge of bankruptcy, and this is how you choose to repay our kindness? By pretending not to know us?"
"...."
"You should be grateful. Without our house, your family’s estate would’ve been auctioned off long ago. The least you can do is show a little respect to the people keeping your barony afloat."
Adrian clenched his fists, but didn’t say anything.
Not far away, Ilya quietly finished the last of his coffee.
After taking one final sip, he let out a sigh before casually tossing the empty metal canister into a nearby disposal artifact.
It landed with a sharp clink that echoed through the otherwise quiet corridor.
Every head turned.
With both hands comfortably inside the pockets of his coat, Ilya slowly walked toward the group as though he had merely stumbled upon them by coincidence.
His expression remained as indifferent as ever, giving no indication that he had been listening to their conversation from the very beginning.
Without so much as acknowledging the three noblemen, Ilya casually stepped beside Adrian and draped an arm around his shoulder.
"Let’s go, Adrian."
But contrary to Ilya’s expectations, Adrian brushed his arm off his shoulder and took a small step away from him.
"...Sorry," Adrian said, refusing to meet his eyes. "But could you mind your own business, Ilya?"
The three noblemen exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by the unexpected response. One of them couldn’t suppress the smirk spreading across his face.
Ilya, however, showed no sign of offense, looking at Adrian for a few seconds before letting out a sigh.
"It’s just not worth it," he said. "The best thing you can do is stop giving these idiots the attention they’re looking for. People like them only keep talking because someone keeps listening."
The three noblemen exchanged amused glances.
"Well, since you’ve decided to involve yourself, perhaps you’d like to hear what your friend has been hiding."
Ilya remained silent.
"You see, Adrian’s House over here isn’t exactly doing very well these days. His father’s barony is drowning in debt, and if my family’s generosity hadn’t kept them afloat with a rather substantial loan, they’d have lost their estate a long time ago."
"...."
"And yet, despite relying on our goodwill to survive, he still acts as though we’re somehow the villains. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder whether he had forgotten who keeps his family’s domain from being seized by creditors."
"...."
"So don’t misunderstand what’s happening here, Ilya Belozersky. We’re not bullying him. We’re just reminding him not to bite the hand that’s feeding him."
Adrian lowered his head.
He didn’t deny a single word.
Everything they had said was true, and that was exactly why he couldn’t bring himself to argue back.
The first nobleman chuckled before looking back at Ilya.
"Though, come to think of it, perhaps the two of you really are suited to each other. One comes from a family that’s surviving on borrowed money, while the other has become the disgrace of one of the Empire’s greatest ducal houses."
Despite the words clearly targeting him, Ilya remained perfectly silent.
Adrian, however, reacted very differently.
"Shut your mouth."
"What?"
"I said... shut your damned mouth..."
"Oh? So now the indebted little baron’s son thinks he has the right to raise his voice—"
Before the sentence had even finished, Adrian’s fist crashed squarely into the nobleman’s face.
Smack——!
The blow sent him stumbling backward, one hand clutching his cheek as he stared at Adrian in disbelief.
"You can insult me all you want," Adrian spat, "but you bastards have no right to drag Ilya into this."
The other two noblemen immediately stepped forward.
"The hell did you just do?"
"You little—"
Their expressions shifted into anger as they lunged toward Adrian, clearly intent on returning the blow several times over.
However, before either of them could lay a hand on him, Ilya calmly stepped between both sides.
Without raising his voice or changing his expression, he simply stood there with both hands still tucked inside his coat pockets.
Even so, the moment he occupied the space between them, the advancing noblemen slowed to a halt.
Only now, standing so close, did they realize just how imposing his frame actually was.
Raised in the harsh climate of the Northern Duchy, Ilya was noticeably taller and broader than everyone gathered there.
Ilya tilted his head ever so slightly before nudging his chin toward them.
"Go on. Hit me."
The two noblemen exchanged uncertain glances.
Their anger had by no means subsided, yet neither seemed willing to throw the first punch anymore.
Hitting Adrian was one thing, but laying a hand on the youngest son of House Belozersky, regardless of how miserable his reputation within the academy had become, was an entirely different matter.
There were lines that could be crossed between students, and lines that, once crossed, invited consequences far beyond the academy grounds.
Realistically, it was unlikely that a hallway scuffle would ever escalate into a dispute between noble houses. Even so, there remained one variable neither of them was eager to gamble on.
Anastasiya.
The heir of House Belozersky was only a third-year student, yet her reputation extended well beyond her own year. Even many of the fourth-year seniors avoided provoking her unless absolutely necessary.
"I think that’s enough."
Before either side could react, a calm voice resounded from somewhere.
The noblemen turned toward the source, their eyes widening almost immediately as they recognized the newcomer.
Walking leisurely down the corridor was none other than the Crown Prince, Siegfried Tobias Bismarck, accompanied by several students who followed closely behind him.
Although they wore academy uniforms no different from everyone else’s, the way they naturally gathered around him made the group resemble a royal procession more than a gathering of classmates.
Naturally, Ilya noticed Elise among the entourage.
For the briefest of moments, their eyes met. She looked as though she wanted to say something, yet ultimately hesitated, averting her gaze instead.
Ilya offered no reaction, his expression remaining as composed as ever as his attention returned to the Crown Prince now standing between the two groups.
"I don’t believe the academy permits hallway brawls," Siegfried said. "Whatever grievance brought the five of you here, I suggest it ends now. If anyone still has unresolved issues, you’re welcome to bring them before the faculty instead of settling them with your fists."
No one objected.
The three noblemen lowered their heads, while Adrian quietly stepped back, his breathing gradually returning to normal.
Even Ilya remained silent, seemingly content to let the Crown Prince bring the confrontation to a close.
Just as everyone thought the matter was over, another voice suddenly cut through the silence.
"Ilya."
He turned.
Surprisingly, Elise stepped out from behind Siegfried, her expression unusually stern.
"...What exactly is going on with you?"
"...?"
"I’ve tried," Elise said, taking a step forward. "I’ve genuinely tried not to believe everything people have been saying about you... Every time another rumor reached my ears, I convinced myself there had to be some misunderstanding because I knew you better than that..."
"Oh?"
More than the accusation itself, what surprised him was the fact that Elise had openly acknowledged their relationship in front of everyone.
Until now, she had always been careful to keep her distance whenever other nobles were watching, yet she had just admitted that the two of them knew each other well.
"But what am I supposed to think when I see this with my own eyes?!"
"Uhm..."
"You’re standing in the middle of a fight. One student has already been punched, and the first thing I see when I arrive is you cornering three other nobles! Tell me, Ilya, how else am I supposed to interpret this?!"
"You’re misunderstanding something, Elise."
"Misunderstanding?" she repeated, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. "From where I was standing, it was your side that threw the first punch. Are you honestly expecting me to believe that everyone else here is wrong?"
Ilya looked past Elise toward the students gathered behind her.
Several of them were watching him with clear apprehension and fear toward him. Seeing those expressions, Ilya could only let out a sigh.
"Our side was provoked first," he said. "They began by cornering Adrian, using his family’s debt to humiliate him. When I intervened, they shifted their attention to me, and after a few more insults, Adrian finally lost his temper."
"Even if that’s true, then stop surrounding yourself with people like that!"
"...People like that?"
"Yes! Every time I hear your name these days, it’s because you’ve been seen with the same group of students! Whether the rumors are fair or not, you keep placing yourself in situations where they become believable!"
Ilya quietly listened without interrupting.
"And look where it led today! The moment someone said something offensive, everything escalated into violence! That’s not how reasonable people resolve disagreements!"
She glanced toward Adrian before looking back at Ilya.
"I know you’re better than this, Ilya!" Elise continued. "At least... I want to believe you are. So stop associating with people who only drag you further down!"
"...Sigh."
In the end, he could only let out a long, weary breath.
Whether the misunderstanding was resolved or not no longer seemed to matter.
Elise had already formed an image of him in her mind long before arriving at this corridor, and everything she witnessed today merely reinforced that image.
Even after hearing his explanation, she had instinctively chosen to trust her own conclusion over his words.
At that realization, Ilya just gave up.
There was little point in continuing to explain himself to someone who had already decided which version of events she believed.
More than anything else, what disappointed him wasn’t the accusation itself, but the simple fact that Elise no longer trusted him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.
There was no point in dwelling on it.
Ilya turned toward Siegfried before lowering his head in a respectful bow befitting the Crown Prince’s station.
"I offer you my thanks for defusing the situation, Your Highness."
"Y-Yes, but there’s no need to be so formal—"
"Come on, Adrian."
"Ah... are you sure?"
Cutting him off, Ilya slung an arm over Adrian’s shoulder once more and nudged him forward before he could argue again.
The two gradually disappeared down the corridor without another glance behind them.
The three noblemen, having lost any desire to continue the confrontation, respectfully bowed toward the Crown Prince.
With that, they too departed in the opposite direction, leaving only Siegfried and the students accompanying him standing in the now-quiet hallway.
"So... that’s Ilya Belozersky?"
"He’s... kind of scary, isn’t he?"
"He’s actually pretty handsome..."
"Sure, but these days, a good face isn’t nearly enough to excuse that kind of attitude..."
Their conversation naturally drifted toward Elise.
"You know him, don’t you?"
"You seemed awfully familiar with him back there."
"Ahaha..." Elise forced an uneasy smile. "We... knew each other when we were younger..."
The conversation gradually went to other topics as the group resumed walking through the academy halls.
The confrontation they had just witnessed remained in everyone’s minds, and after several moments, Siegfried finally glanced toward Elise.
"By the way, was Ilya always like that?"
Elise turned to him.
"He seemed... very different from the boy I remember," Siegfried continued. "The Ilya I knew years ago practically stuck close to his mother wherever she went. He gave me the impression of someone who lacked the confidence to take even a few steps on his own."
Elise lowered her gaze.
"...No. I mean, I don’t know... I don’t know anymore..."
"The way he looked at me back there..." Siegfried said. "I can’t quite put it into words..."
He frowned, searching for the right expression.
"...But he looked like someone who had already died."
"Don’t say something so unsettling, Sieg."
"Ah... you’re right. My apologies. I suppose that was a rather strange way to put it."
As Siegfried absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck, his fingers suddenly brushed against something cold and damp, causing him to pause mid-step.
He pulled his hand away and stared at the strange moisture on his fingertips.
"....?"
It was melted ice.
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