Sophomore Ball III

Soon enough, it was time for the first dance.

The lights dimmed slightly, and a soft melody began to play, signaling the start of the evening's formalities. A few couples had already made their way to the dance floor, but as I stood there with three princesses by my side, I realized we had a bit of a… dilemma.

"I'll go first," Rachel declared confidently, stepping forward and tugging at my arm with a smile. "I did arrive first, after all."

Cecilia crossed her arms, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "That's not how it works, Rachel. I think it should be me since Arthur promised to spend more time with me tonight."

Rachel's smile didn't falter, but her grip on my arm tightened a little as she turned to face Cecilia. "He can spend time with you later, Ceci. You don't need the first dance for that."

Seraphina, who had been quietly watching the back-and-forth, finally stepped in, her crystalline blue eyes focused on me. "Why don't I go first? Neither of you trained with him in the evening," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Besides, it's tradition that the ice princess gets to cool things off."

"That's not a real tradition!" Cecilia huffed, her arms still crossed. "You just made that up."

Seraphina shrugged, unfazed. "It is now."

I sighed inwardly, realizing this was quickly escalating into a full-blown argument, and somehow, I was the cause of it.

"Okay, okay," I said, stepping between them and raising my hands in surrender. "Let's settle this fairly, alright?"

Rachel and Cecilia turned to me expectantly, while Seraphina remained composed but curious. They all clearly wanted the first dance, but I wasn't about to let this turn into a battle in the middle of the ballroom.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Cecilia exclaimed. "Fine! Rock, paper, scissors. That's the most fair, right?"

Rachel and Seraphina exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement. It was a bit silly, but it seemed like the best solution under the circumstances. After all, who could argue with fate?

The three girls quickly turned to each other, eyes narrowing in concentration. On the count of three, they all threw their hands forward.

"Rock!" Cecilia shouted, her fist clenched.

"Paper," Seraphina said with a satisfied smile.

"Rock," Rachel muttered in defeat, letting out a small sigh.

I blinked, trying not to laugh. "Well, looks like Seraphina's up first."

Seraphina's lips curled into a faint smile as she stepped forward, her hand extended gracefully. "Shall we?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. Behind me, I could hear Cecilia and Rachel muttering under their breaths, but thankfully, it seemed the crisis had been averted.

For now, at least.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Luke Orden stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the scene unfold with clenched fists, his jaw tight. The polished floor reflected the swirling dancers, the elegant music filling the air, but all he could focus on was him—Arthur Nightingale—dancing with Seraphina while Rachel stood aside.

His eyes burned with envy as he watched Rachel, her face impassive, though Luke imagined he could see the slight disappointment in her expression. The woman he admired, who had always been kind, always radiated grace, was being ignored for another girl.

How dare he? How dare Arthur not choose her first?

Luke's heart pounded in his chest, the bitter sensation of jealousy choking him. He had always envied Arthur—envied his talent, his power, and now… now he had to watch as Arthur casually balanced the affection of three princesses? The arrogance of it all. He wasn't just taking one—he was playing with their hearts, letting them fight over him like he was some prize. Rachel, his Rachel, who should be cherished and adored, was just another option to Arthur.

'He doesn't deserve her,' Luke thought, the weight of his bitterness pressing down on him. 'He's using them, treating their feelings like a game. And they're letting him.'

The green-eyed monster of envy coiled tighter around his heart as his thoughts spiraled. He knew Rachel deserved better—someone who truly loved her, who saw her as more than just a princess to collect. Someone like… him. He had been there, admired her from afar, and respected her. Yet, Arthur just took her for granted, like she was another conquest in his already charmed life.

A subtle voice whispered in his mind, so quiet he barely registered it. "He toys with them, Luke. He doesn't care about Rachel like you do. He takes her love for granted. You could be the one to show her what true devotion is…"

The thought stirred within him, feeding the growing fire of resentment. He hadn't paid much attention to such ideas before, dismissing them as fleeting emotions. But now, with Arthur at the center of the room, pulling three different hearts towards him, it felt… justified. Arthur needed to be brought down a peg.

As he stood there, his grip tightening on the glass in his hand, Luke barely noticed the shift in the room. A faint, almost imperceptible aura began to wrap around him, something cold and insidious. It whispered to him in moments of weakness, amplifying every negative emotion, twisting his admiration for Rachel into something more possessive, something darker.

"You're better than him, Luke. You care about her… You should be the one by her side, not him."

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Rachel deserved someone who wasn't distracted by two other women, someone who saw her as more than just another princess. And Seraphina and Cecilia—they deserved better too. Arthur didn't deserve any of them, not with the way he treated them like pieces on a chessboard.

Luke's thoughts darkened, the whispers feeding into his insecurities. What had started as simple envy had now become something more, something consuming. He could feel it gnawing at him, pushing him further down a path he hadn't realized he was on. Was it just envy? Or was something more sinister guiding his thoughts?

A shadow moved at the edge of his vision, a flicker that could have been nothing… but he felt its presence. Unseen but unmistakable, like the weight of a heavy hand on his shoulder. And the whispers… they weren't just his own anymore.

"Take what should be yours, Luke. Show them all. Show him what you're capable of."

Luke's breathing quickened as his fingers dug into the palm of his hand, the subtle manipulation worming its way into his mind, amplifying his darkest thoughts. He wasn't just envious anymore. He was angry. Angry at Arthur for taking what should have been his. Angry at himself for letting it happen.

Angry at the world for always putting him in second place.

The whispers wrapped around Luke's soul, fueling his envy, igniting his lust for power, for something more. And as the shadows swirled around him, he didn't push them away.

He welcomed them.

Meanwhile, Drake's gaze never left Luke. A slow grin crept across his face, satisfied at the transformation he was witnessing.

'How terrifying,' Drake thought, recognizing the power of the demons that had taken root within Luke. He could feel the dark mana pulsing around the boy like a living thing, and it only solidified his own beliefs.

But at the same time, a wary gleam flickered in Drake's eyes as he glanced at the professors stationed near the ballroom's entrance. They remained sharp, ever vigilant, ready to strike at the first sign of black mana. They would cut down any demonic taint before it spread, before it even had a chance to show itself fully. That was how deeply black mana terrified them.

'Fools,' Drake clicked his tongue in disdain, hiding the flare of irritation under his breath.

He'd seen the truth, after all. He'd realized how futile conventional power was when he'd entered into his contract with the demons—beings that existed on a level far beyond what any human could comprehend. Even his father, the Namgung family's patriarch and a step behind Radiant-rank, paled in comparison to the forces Drake had tasted.

'Demons will rule this world in the future anyway,' he justified to himself as he leaned back, letting the chaotic energy of the ballroom swirl around him unnoticed.

His eyes drifted across the room until they landed on a figure. And for the first time, Drake's stoic expression wavered. A surge of rage and loathing threatened to break through his carefully crafted mask as his gaze settled on the boy who had been a thorn in his side from the beginning.

Lucifer Windward.

The Sovereign, the golden boy, the one hailed as the greatest talent of all time. A talent so immense it was said to rival, no, surpass even Julius Slatemark. The name alone made Drake's blood boil.

Lucifer had humiliated him—defeated him at the start of their first year, taking control of the swordsmanship club that was his by right.

Drake could still feel the sting of that day, the way Lucifer had barely even broken a sweat while defeating him, casting him aside like an afterthought.

But not anymore.

'Whatever,' Drake thought as his hand clenched by his side. He felt the raw, overwhelming power flowing through him now, power far beyond anything Lucifer could comprehend.

And now, he could feel it, thrumming like an untapped well of potential, ready to tear apart anyone in his path.

Revenge was inevitable. But it needed to be careful, precise.

Drake's eyes flicked once again to the professors, the barrier between his plans and the full extent of his power. For now, he would play by the rules, masking the darkness inside him. But once the time was right—and away from the professors' prying eyes—his revenge would begin.

'Tonight,' Drake thought, his smirk growing wider, 'Arthur and Lucifer will see who's truly in control.'