The days blurred into a tense, ticulously orchestrated waiting ga.
My trap in the alleyway had been perfectly set.
The artifact I had slipped into the unconscious noble’s coat was a dormant ti bomb, quietly resting in Marcus’s possession.
And according to Mira’s daily reports through the communication crystal, the Valen family’s foundation was already crumbling. The severed trade route had triggered a massive financial cascade.
Creditors were laying claim to their provincial manor, and underground guild enforcers were conducting aggressive, unsanctioned raids on their remaining assets.
The plan was working.
Then, the Spring Festival finally arrived.
The Royal Academy transford overnight. The strict, quiet academic atmosphere was completely swept away, replaced by vibrant banners of gold and blue snapping in the wind.
The towering wrought-iron gates were thrown wide open, guarded by heavily armored royal knights who ticulously checked the invitations of the kingdom’s elite. A massive stream of wealthy rchants, high-ranking nobles, and distinguished alumni flooded onto the manicured campus grounds, their expensive carriages lining the main thoroughfare.
At plot nineteen in the central courtyard, the Fla-Boar stall was fully operational.
"Kyle, if you eat one more skewer, we are going to operate at a loss," I warned, effortlessly flipping a row of sizzling monster at over the localized thermal array Tobias had designed.
"I have to taste-test the product!" Kyle argued, wiping a sar of grease from his cheek. "It’s quality control!"
"You’ve ’quality controlled’ a quarter of our entire inventory," Sira pointed out. She was leaning against the wooden counter, casually chewing on a piece of roasted boar herself. She pointed a greasy wooden skewer at him.
"Leave the rest for the paying custors, rich boy."
I just shook my head, a faint, amused smile on my face as I looked out over the sprawling festival grounds.
The sheer density of notable figures walking past was staggering. I recognized the crests of major political factions, prominent guild masters, and even a few retired military generals reading the public notice boards detailing the afternoon’s duels and theatrical plays.
As my eyes scanned the crowd, they suddenly locked onto a figure standing near the central fountain.
It was a girl, casually holding a parasol.
Her long, silver hair waved softly in the morning breeze, catching the sunlight, and she wore an elegant, flowing blue dress that perfectly matched the striking color of her eyes.
I paused, my hand hovering over the grill.
Seraphina Ashcroft.
She had been in my first-year class at the very beginning of the term but had abruptly dropped out of the Academy just a few weeks in. I had never looked into the reasons why; students buckling under the pressure of the curriculum was a common occurrence.
But seeing her here, wandering the festival grounds with an air of absolute, unbothered confidence, struck a discordant note in my mind.
As if sensing my gaze, Seraphina turned her head.
Her bright blue eyes t mine across the crowded courtyard. The corners of her lips curled up into a slow, knowing smirk. Without missing a beat, she elegantly turned around and disappeared into the sea of moving bodies.
I blinked.
What was that?
Before I could process the strange interaction, a wealthy-looking rchant wearing the Capital Syndicate crest approached our stall, demanding five skewers. I instantly slipped back into my polite, student facade, handing over the food and collecting the silver coins.
The rest of the day passed in a chaotic, smoky blur.
Between Sira aggressively up-selling our product and the sheer volu of hungry spectators, we completely sold out of at by mid-afternoon.
"We are officially wealthy," Sira declared, happily jingling a heavy leather pouch full of silver and copper coins. She hopped up to sit on the wooden counter, swinging her legs. "Now we can actually enjoy the festival."
Kyle leaned against the stall’s supporting beam, his excitent dimming slightly as he looked out toward the rows of vendor booths.
"We should go find Emma. She wasn’t in the grounds this morning. We should bring her so of the profits too and enjoy the festival."
I stepped out from behind the grill, my expression remaining perfectly calm, though my mind instantly calculated the exact layout of Marcus’s stall a few plots over.
I couldn’t let Kyle wander over there. If Kyle saw how Marcus was treating her, he would start a fight, and both him and Emma would take the brunt of the punishnt.
"Leave it alone, Kyle," I said, my tone smooth and entirely reasonable as I redirected their energy.
"It’s the first day of the festival. She’s probably completely swamped with other important stuff. If we crowd her right now, we’ll just stress her out. Festival isn’t going anywhere for at least three days. We’ll go tomorrow when things settle down."
Sira nodded in agreent, tossing a stray copper coin into the air and catching it.
"Yeah, fair point. Let the girl breathe. Dealing with nobles all day is exhausting."
Kyle looked a bit sad, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"Yeah, I guess. Poor her. Being a commoner at an event like this ain’t easy."
Sira shot him a flat, thoroughly unimpressed look.
"Kyle, you are a commoner too."
"But I am rich," Kyle countered without missing a beat, completely genuine in his logic.
Sira just groaned, massaging her temples.
"I hate that you’re right."
As all of them fell back into their natural, lighthearted bickering, I wiped my hands on a towel and looked toward the grand, colosseum-style combat pavilions towering over the western side of the campus.
The massive brass bells began to toll, signaling the start of the afternoon events.
It might be ti for the duels, I thought, my eyes sharpening with a cold, calculating light.
Marcus would undoubtedly be participating to salvage his family’s reputation, try to win the duels and impress the half of the nobility.
I tossed the towel onto the empty grill and turned back to my group, offering a relaxed smile.
"Co on," I said, gesturing toward the main thoroughfare.
"Let’s go sowhere fun."
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