An individual pranced elegantly. Giovanni's gaze tracked the figure's every move.
The individual was clad in vibrant, mismatched silks, their face painted in a grotesque caricature of a smile. Their bells jingled with every step.
The figure appeared to be a jester but jesters weren't a staple of Atteria's court. They skipped forward, stopping abruptly before Giovanni.
The figure began to juggle three bright red balls with surprisingly graceful movement.
"Greetings, to you three powerful men!" the individual exclaimed in a high-pitched, unsettling sing-song.
"Powerful even still with one foot in the grave, powerful even still with your fates already sealed."
The figure dropped one of the red balls with an exaggerated flourish, then squints at Giovanni as he picked it up, quietly brushing of the dust.
"There is something off abo..." they paused, their gaze lingering on Giovanni for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
A flicker of unease passed across Giovanni's face, a subtle tightening of his jaw that went unnoticed by the others. He maintained his composed expression, but the jester's words hung in the air, a silent accusation.
The Jester's eyes darted around the room, landing on a startled-looking courtier.
"Did you see that, your Majesty? That man just sneezed! A most auspicious sign, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps a sneeze of doom! Or perhaps a sneeze of good fortune! One never knows with these things, do they?"
King Masamune looks at Giovanni questioningly, as if to say, "Who is this clown?", and Giovanni shoots back with the same look as if to answer, "I have no idea."
Then they both look at Yasu, who had a big grin on his face.
"He's entertaining, isn't he?" Yasu asked rhetorically. "He's the Grand Jester of Court Amakusaye."
I can't sense his mana. A powerful display of control.
Giovanni thought to himself as his sense of unease grew steadily.
The Grand Jester continued his antics for a few more moments, his exaggerated gestures, and playful chatter a stark contrast to the growing tension in the room. His strange, almost childlike behavior didn't match the gravity of the situation.
Masamune remained still, his brow furrowed in with a silent confusion on his face as Giovanni observed everyone's reaction.
As the jester's unpredictable performance dragged on, it was clear the atmosphere was only becoming more unsettling, as though each word he spoke piled on to an invisible weight pressing down on the room.
But then, in an instant, the Grand Jester stopped. His laughter faded, and two of his red balls he had been juggling slipped from his grasp, bouncing to the floor with an eerie finality.
He stood still, his painted smile vanishing as his eyes narrowed, their playful gleam replaced with something darker, something colder.
"Enough frivolity!" he hissed, his voice no longer playful but a chilling whisper, thin and sharp, like a blade sliding across glass.
It seemed to echo, not through the air, but inside the bones of everyone present.
His gaze snapped to Giovanni's left ear, unnervingly precise. He leaned in, close enough for Giovanni to see the cracks in the painted smile, the madness flickering in his eyes.
His voice dropped to a dangerous murmur.
"From one pretender to another."
A sudden stillness seized the hall. Time seemed to hesitate—then hold its breath. For a heartbeat, no one moved a single muscle.
Giovanni didn't respond. Couldn't.
Something in the air—the shape of the words—had clipped the breath from his lungs.
Giovanni's pulse ticked faster.
Who is this clown?
And what does he know?
He wasn't angry. Not yet. But confusion gnawed at him, slow and sharp, deeper than fear.
How could a jester... know anything?
Silence blanketed the hall, heavy and cold.
Then came the jester's voice again—creeping through the grand hall like an omen, soft and slithering, leaving unease in its wake.
"A message from the winds, a whisper in the shadows!" he continued, his tone becoming increasingly cryptic.
"Their fates entwined, two wunderkind. An encounter drawing near."
The jester stood back, his smile returning, though, it was much more menacing now.
"Brings changes drifting in the wind." He paused for effect, his eyes gleaming with an unnatural intensity.
"The Ides of March. Beware!"
His voice lingered, almost as though the words themselves held power.
Then, with a final, unhinged grin, he skipped away, leaving behind the two balls, his bells fading into the background hum of the hall.
A chill settled over the room.
Giovanni felt a prickle of unease. He watched as the Emperor gave a slight nod, his expression unchanged.
Giovanni's mind raced.
Two wunderkind?
He thought of Ramone, then Kiara.
The Ides of March?
March had just started.
And what of the changes drifting in the wind? Was this prophecy a warning of impending conflict?
He needed to see his son. He needed to understand the encounter the jester spoke of.
A plan formed in his mind.
He excused himself, citing urgent matters to attend to, and slipped away from the hall.
He donned a simple cloak, concealing his identity, and made his way to the academy training grounds where Ramone was always lurking.
The bickering and loud noise he heard as he hurried towards the academy let him know that the encounter had already happened or was about to happen.
As he neared the training grounds, Giovanni discretely activated his mage abilities, his senses sharpening.
He focused his awareness on the sounds, the vibrations, the subtle shifts in the air currents. He could almost feel the pulse of the duel between two prodigies. A clash of wills, perhaps, the exertion of raw physical power and no use of mana.
He found a secluded alcove near the edge of the training grounds, a hidden vantage point cloaked in shadow, perfect for observing without being seen.
With a subtle shift of his magecraft field—a refined mage technique honed by seasoned warriors—he amplified his perception, suppressing his presence, silencing his steps, and even tuning in the energy signature of everyone around him
A gentle ripple passed through the air as he manipulated the wind, crafting a delicate eddy that swirled past the dueling ground. The breeze carried with it the clash of blades, ragged breaths, and shifting feet, feeding them directly to his sharpened senses.
From this vantage point, Giovanni Mari watched in silence, his eyes narrowing as he observed. Ramone and a masked figure were engaged in a fierce sparring match.
"That must be Kiara. Her sword skills are as impressive as ever." He whispered as he leaned in closer.
"2-1," a student shouted as Ramone landed a hit.
Nice, he needs one more, Giovanni thought to himself. Does the outcome of this duel matter?
Giovanni watched them, his mind still grappling with the jester's prophecy.
Two wunderkind, their fates entwined.
Was Ramone destined to play a crucial role in the coming events? And was Kiara's arrival a harbinger of peace or the first step towards a devastating conflict?
Ramone was moving with a newfound intensity, as if he knew his father was watching. His attacks were more focused, more deliberate.
Kiara's movements became even more fluid, more precise. She countered with an almost effortless grace. Ramone seemed to be two steps behind.
She's good, that's 2-2.
"3-1".
Huh?
He heard one student shout the results. His son had lost a sparring match, and everyone watching was shocked. Everyone.
As the figure removed the mask, his suspicions were confirmed.
That was the encounter.
The catalyst for the Ides of March.
With that, he knew that the coming days would be fraught with uncertainty, a delicate dance on the edge of a precipice.
It was a fascinating display of skill, but as Giovanni watched them become acquainted, a disturbing thought occurred to him.
The jester had spoken of 'an encounter bringing changes in the wind...
The news of the duel was already rippling throughout Capril Academy.
Was this duel a carefully orchestrated event, a stage set for a more significant drama to unfold? Or was the encounter an event that, by all means, should have been prevented?
Giovanni knew the answer would have to wait. But one thing was certain: the Ides of March were drawing near, and the shadows were indeed growing long.
I guess there's no turning back now, is there?
"Time to make a move."
The words hung in the air—not weighted with emotion, but with certainty. Something had shifted. And even he could feel it.