Chapter 76: Aeron’s Breaking Point
Aeron wasn’t just some side character. He was the protagonist of this damn academy’s drama. If he spiraled, it’d affect everyone —especially Emilia and Livia, who were already caught in his orbit. And if he snapped again like he did during the hallucination incident...
Yeah, no thanks.
The last thing I need is a repeat of his crimson-eyed rampage.
I rubbed my temples.
Fine. I’ll do it.
But not now. Not in the middle of class.
And I need a plan.
Then again... how exactly am I gonna do it?
He probably wasn’t the type to spill his guts over a chat. And if Emilia’s concern couldn’t crack his shell, my sleep-deprived mumbling stood no chance.
Alright, let’s do a brainstorming.
The professor’s voice faded into background noise as I turned the problem over in my mind. My pencil tapped absently against my notebook, leaving a trail of tiny ink dots that vaguely resembled my crumbling sanity.
Option 1: Direct Approach.
Ask Aeron outright. Pros: Simple. Cons: He’d shut down immediately.
Option 2: Ambush Tactics.
Corner him after class. Pros: No escape. Cons: Might trigger fight-or-flight (emphasis on fight ).
Option 3: Weaponized Gossip.
Have Livia "accidentally" reveal his secret trauma. Pros: Plausible deniability. Cons: Livia would absolutely extort me for this favor. Or just refuse.
I scribbled out all three options.
Too messy. Too risky.
The bell rang, jolting me from my scheming. Students shuffled out, but I stayed slumped at my desk, eyelids heavier than Leon’s training weights. Maybe if I slept for five minutes—
"Amaniel."
The voice was flat and hollow but familiar.
I turned my head.
Aeron stood beside my desk, his shadow stretching over my half-finished notes. Up close, the damage was worse—his knuckles were scraped raw (had he been punching walls?), and his uniform collar was misbuttoned. But it was his eyes that unsettled me: dull as tarnished silver, all that usual warmth snuffed out.
For a long second, we just stared at each other. Then—
"Can we talk?"
I blinked. Once. Twice.
...Was I overworking my brain for nothing?
All that mental gymnastics, and the solution just... walked up to me?
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Alright," I said slowly. "But let’s do it after classes end."
Aeron nodded once, sharp as a guillotine drop, and turned on his heel. Emilia reached for his sleeve as he passed—he didn’t even glance back.
I stared at his retreating figure, then out the window where afternoon sunlight glinted off the courtyard swordsmanship dummy’s dented helmet.
Why me?
The question rattled in my skull as the next class dragged on. Sure, we were classmates—maybe even what passed for friends in this place. But Aeron had dozens of friends, admirers, and his heroines - Livia and Emilia. And also that loud guy from the fencing club who always challenged him to duels.
So why seek out the sleep-deprived transfer student who nearly got bisected by him last week?
I tapped my pencil harder.
Option 1: Guilt. Maybe he remembered fragments of the hallucination incident—the way his cursed sword had nearly taken my head off.
Option 2: Convenience. I was the only one who hadn’t tried prying into his weird behavior today or at all.
Option 3: Something worse. What if the sword’s influence wasn’t fully gone? What if this was a trap—
I snapped the pencil tip.
Urgh, why do I always overthink it?
The answer was simple: Wait until we talk.
____ ___ _
The third class crawled by at the pace of a dying snail. When the final bell rang, I caught Aeron’s eye across the room—a silent agreement passing between us. We waited as our classmates trickled out. Emilia lingered near her desk, fingers nervously smoothing her uniform, clearly wanting to approach Aeron but hesitating under his icy demeanor.
Aeron stood abruptly, his chair scraping loud enough to make Emilia flinch. He jerked his chin toward the door as if to sat "I’ll be waiting."
I gave a half-hearted wave in acknowledgment. Just as I took my first step to follow—
Tug.
Emilia intercepted me, her fingers closing around my sleeve. Up close, the cracks in her noble composure were impossible to miss—the slight tremble of her lower lip, the way her silver lashes stuck together like she’d been blinking back tears.
Emilia’s grip on my sleeve tightened slightly before she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Amaniel, he’s been... avoiding me." Her fingers trembled against the fabric. "Not just me—Livia too. Everyone. He won’t talk, won’t even look at us." She swallowed hard, her pale throat working. "And he looks... worse each day. I’m afraid he hasn’t been eating either."
She pressed a small lunchbox into my hands—still warm, the delicate floral pattern at odds with her white-knuckled grip. "Can you share it with him. And, pplease... try to help him."
I stared at the lunchbox, then at her. The desperation in her usually composed face made my stomach twist. She must be really worried about him, huh.
I exhaled through my nose. "Alright. But I can’t promise anything."
"Thank you." The gratitude in her voice was almost painful. She released my sleeve, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands as she stepped back.
I turned toward the door, lunchbox in hand—and froze.
Aeron stood just outside the classroom, his shoulder propped against the doorframe. The angle suggested he’d heard everything, but his expression remained unreadable.
Well. That saves me the trouble of repeating it.
I pretended not to notice, jerking my chin toward the hallway. "Let’s go."
He pushed off the wall without a word.
The academy corridors stretched endlessly as we walked in silence, our footsteps echoing. After three turns, I cleared my throat. "Is there somewhere... private? I don’t know the campus well."
Aeron didn’t answer immediately. Then—"Alright."
He took the lead, his stride purposeful.
We passed empty classrooms, a deserted warehouse wing, and finally exited through a side door into the gardens. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves as we followed a hidden path behind the main hedges.
The sound of rushing water grew louder until we rounded a bend—and there it was.
A secluded clearing where a small waterfall cascaded into a crystal-clear pond, surrounded by maple trees whose leaves burned gold and crimson. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting the entire scene in a dreamlike amber-green glow. The perfect hidden sanctuary.
Aeron stopped at the water’s edge, his reflection fracturing in the ripples. "Few people know this place and people rarely visit."
I nodded, taking in the serene isolation.
Definitely a protagonist’s secret spot.
The kind of place where dramatic confessions or power-ups happened in stories.
Setting Emilia’s lunchbox on a flat rock, I pulled out a sandwich wrapped in crisp parchment paper, the smell of roasted chicken and herbs wafting up. From my own bag, I retrieved a small bottle of honeyed tea—one of the few edible things the twins had given me this morning.
Without ceremony, I held the drink out to Aeron.
He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers twitching at his sides before he finally accepted. The silence stretched as he turned the bottle in his hands, watching the amber liquid swirl.
"So," I said around a bite of sandwich, "what did you want to talk about?"
Aeron’s grip tightened on the bottle. "...I’m sorry."
I froze mid-chew.
He remembers everything, huh?
Swallowing thickly, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "...What exactly are you sorry for?"
His head snapped up, eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my skin prickle. After a beat, his shoulders slumped slightly. "...You don’t remember?"
Ok.
Now I let him think that I’d forgotten. That I hadn’t been affected. That his secret was still safe. Or it was all an illusion.
I could play along. Pretend ignorance. It would be easier—for both of us.
But the weight of Emilia’s lunchbox on the rock between us, the raw scrapes on Aeron’s knuckles, the way his voice cracked on that single word— sorry —
All of it made the lie stick in my throat.
I took another deliberate bite of sandwich, buying time as I studied him. The way his breathing had gone shallow, the barely-there tremble in his fingers. This wasn’t just guilt—this was fear .
Fear of what he’d done. Fear of what he might do again.
Fear that I, the one whom he nearly killed, might remember.
Setting the sandwich down, I met his gaze squarely.
Here goes nothing. I hope I won’t regret this...
"Of course I remember," I said quietly. "You tried to kill me."
Aeron’s breath hitched. His fingers clenched around the bottle hard enough to make the glass creak, knuckles turning white where the scrapes hadn’t yet healed.
The amber liquid inside sloshed violently, mirroring the turmoil in his eyes—shock, denial, and something darker, something that made his pupils dilate until only a thin ring of silver remained.
"I...I... I didn’t—"
"Yes, you tried to kill me," I interrupted, keeping my voice cold and flat. "Why are you trying to deny it?"
His entire body jerked as if struck. The bottle slipped from his grasp, shattering against the rocks. Honeyed tea seeped into the cracks between stones like liquid gold.
"N-No. It—" His voice cracked, raw and broken. "It wasn’t me. It was—"
"Aeron. Just accept it."