The Deal

Tristan woke with a familiar exhaustion—and an even more familiar headache.

"What happened…?" He muttered groggily before the memories flooded back. "Oh… I remember now."

Just like when he had summoned Killington, he had expended an immense amount of Star Energy. The strain had been too much, causing him to collapse on Kenway's floor.

With a sluggish groan, he swung his legs off the couch and rose to his feet. His body protested every movement, but he ignored the discomfort and made his way to the bathroom.

The moment he entered, he reached for the toothpaste resting beside the sink. He brushed his teeth methodically—right side first, then the center, then the left. Finally, he scrubbed his tongue, only to find it had turned white.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind.

'Why do tongues turn white?'

Almost immediately, a voice answered him—Killington, ever the walking encyclopedia of knowledge.

"It is typically caused by the accumulation of bacteria, food debris, and dead cells trapped between the papillae on the tongue's surface. These can swell and become inflamed, leading to—"

Tristan spat into the sink, glancing to the side with mild irritation.

"Yeah, I didn't need all that information, but… thanks." His voice carried a note of weary appreciation.

After rinsing his mouth, he exited the bathroom—only to hear Kenway's voice calling for him.

"Tristan! You have a visitor!"

A visitor?

Tristan paused mid-step, curiosity flickering through him. Who could it possibly be? He hardly had any friends.

And then it hit him.

"Wait… could it be—?"

His heartbeat quickened. He took the stairs at his own pace, and with each step, the boutique's entrance became clearer.

Then, he saw her.

Silver hair cascading over a puffy black dress, a vision of elegance and refinement. Her silhouette, though partially obscured by the dress, only accentuated the air of nobility she carried effortlessly.

Amelia Green.

Just like in the library, his heart raced. His palms grew damp.

'Is it always going to be like this?' A flicker of worry slipped into his thoughts.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the staircase, Kenway struck him on the head. The blow sent him stumbling to his knees.

"What the hell?!" Tristan snapped, rubbing the sore spot with a scowl.

"How could you come downstairs looking like that?" Kenway gestured sharply at Tristan's appearance.

Only then did he realize—he was still in his sleeping attire, his hair a disheveled mess.

'Why does he care so much about my appearance?'

A soft giggle cut through his thoughts.

Tristan turned sharply toward Amelia, catching the rare sight of a small smile gracing her lips.

"Laughing at my pain? Not very ladylike." He muttered.

"You should know better than to greet a visitor in such a state," she chided, her amusement evident.

Tristan huffed, turning away. As he left to change, Kenway pulled out a chair for Amelia, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

"So then, Lady Green… what brings you here?"

Without hesitation, Amelia gestured toward her maid, who stepped forward and retrieved a briefcase from the carriage outside.

She unlatched it, revealing stacks of Rune—their currency.

"There's about twenty thousand Rune inside this briefcase," Amelia stated plainly. "It's all for you."

Kenway blinked.

"What?" His voice was laced with disbelief.

"Tristan and I made an agreement. In return, he asked me to provide financial support for you."

Kenway's jaw tensed. He hated being pitied. The very thought of accepting money out of charity made his skin crawl. But before he could refuse, Amelia—almost as if reading his mind—spoke again.

"Don't think of it as charity," she said coolly. "Think of it as Tristan paying rent for the housing and provisions you've given him."

Even so, Kenway hesitated.

"Kenway, take the money."

The voice came from behind.

Tristan had returned—still shirtless, a towel draped around his neck, wearing only his boxers.

"The boutique is expensive, and repairs are going to cost even more. Just take it."

Kenway clenched his jaw, his pride warring against practicality. But eventually, he relented.

With a sigh, he stepped forward to accept the briefcase—only to freeze as he noticed something.

Amelia's face was bright red.

Kenway's gaze flickered to Tristan, then back to the noblewoman.

And then it clicked.

His expression darkened.

"Tristan… why are you standing here half-naked in front of a lady?"

Tristan blinked, then glanced down at himself.

"Oh, right. I meant to ask if you had a suit I could borrow. My other one's dirty." He said nonchalantly.

Kenway exhaled sharply—then, without warning, grabbed a pair of scissors and hurled them at Tristan's head.

The blade whizzed past his ear, embedding itself into the wall behind him.

Tristan stood frozen in horror.

"Why the hell are you so good at throwing scissors?!" He asked.

"Go upstairs and put some damn clothes on!" Kenway thundered.

Tristan saluted.

"Yes, sir." He bolted up the stairs.

Kenway sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning back to Amelia with an apologetic bow.

"Forgive him."

She shook her head, amusement still dancing in her silver eyes.

But then Kenway remembered something.

"You mentioned a deal," he said, sitting down once more. "What exactly did Tristan agree to?"

Amelia met his gaze, her voice unwavering.

"He's going to help me become a Tower Leader."

Kenway frowned.

"Tristan barely has any combat experience. Entering the Academy without proper skills will be—"

"Impossible?" Amelia finished for him, tilting her head. "I understand. That's why, for the next two weeks, Tristan will undergo rigorous training. A very close family friend will be preparing him for his entrance into Constella Academy."

There was confidence in her words. Conviction.

Kenway studied her for a moment before exhaling in resignation.

"Fine." He picked up the briefcase and turned toward the stairs.

Upstairs, Tristan stood in a well-tailored suit—a long red coat, matching crimson pants, a black shirt, and polished black oxford shoes. He adjusted his collar and cufflinks before descending.

"So," he said as he approached Amelia, "why are you here?"

She crossed her legs, regarding him coolly.

"It seems you've forgotten—today marks the beginning of your training. So, I've come to collect you."

His brow twitched.

"You came to collect me?"

Something about the way she phrased it unsettled him. It was as if he were nothing more than a gift— meticulously prepared, elegantly wrapped, and now being claimed. And with the way he was dressed, the comparison felt almost too fitting.

He sighed.

With a final farewell to Kenway, he followed Amelia outside and entered her ornate carriage.

Inside, the emerald-green seats were embroidered with intricate floral patterns.

As the carriage began to move, Tristan leaned back.

"So… are we heading to Darren's bar?"

Amelia shook her head.

"No. We're going to my estate in the High District."

Tristan exhaled sharply.

This was going to be one hell of a day.