Victor sat idly on one of the benches nestled between the ivy-draped arches of St. Freya's courtyard, shoulders slightly slouched, arms stretched out behind him as if anchoring him to the earth. The sky above him was a brilliant, cloud-swept canvas—wide and endless—but somehow, it made the world feel smaller.
He exhaled slowly, bored and alone, watching the sunlight flicker through rustling leaves. His gaze trailed upward again, as though the horizon might offer some answer to the dull ache gnawing at his chest.
A sigh escaped him.
Low. Drawn-out.
He closed his eyes.
And tried to tune out the whispers drifting through the courtyard.
They always followed him now.
"…He's the one that fought Himeko, right?"
"God, he's way too pretty to be that terrifying…"
"Is he really sitting there by himself? Isn't he usually surrounded by people?"
The voices weren't cruel. Not really.
Just… observant. Curious. Distant.
They never got close. Not anymore.
And for some reason, today—it felt heavier than usual.
His mind drifted back. Not far. Just a few hours earlier.
They had all been there—clustered at their usual table beneath the hanging glass lamps in the student lounge.
Kiana practically bouncing in her seat. Yuzuki sipping something green and allegedly medicinal. Mei quietly flipping through her notebook, lips moving as she memorized recipes. Eden humming some half-forgotten tune under her breath. Mobius scribbling something unholy into her clipboard.
Even Etoile had shown up, brooding with all the grace of a thundercloud.
Victor had looked at them.
And asked a simple question:
"Where are we going today?"
There was a beat of silence. Then—
"Cooking club," Mei answered first, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear without glancing up. "They need help organizing the weekend demo. I said I'd volunteer."
"Baseball club!" Kiana chirped, both fists in the air like she'd just won something. "Coach says I finally have enough restraint to not destroy the ball!"
Victor blinked.
"...Since when do you like baseball?"
"Since I can hit things with a bat legally."
Yuzuki adjusted his collar, eyes flicking to the side. "Uh—gardening. Fu Hua invited me to help with the greenhouse."
Victor tilted his head, brow raised.
"Since when were you two close?"
Yuzuki's face lit up like a caught criminal. "W-Well, I mean—we're both class reps, right? So we, uh… collaborate. Sometimes."
Victor squinted. "Collaborate."
"Y-yeah."
Then—smug as ever—Etoile leaned back, arms crossed.
"Why would I waste my time tagging along with you?" he sneered, that irritating glint in his mismatched eyes.
But before Victor could retort, Bronya chimed in—monotone, but definite.
"He wanted to train more. I'm supervising."
Etoile froze. "...Bronya."
"I packed sparring gear," she added, as if that settled it.
Mobius barely looked up from her notes. "I have research to continue. And experiments. And children I could possibly traumatize."
Victor didn't ask.
"And I'm due for a meeting with Theresa," Eden said gently, eyes apologetic. "It's… important."
He hadn't argued.
He'd just nodded.
And now here he was.
"Alone, are we?"
The voice slipped through the courtyard like a slow current, smooth and warm—and immediately unwelcome.
Victor's eyes cracked open.
Standing a few paces away, clad in his ever-immaculate black priest coat, was Chris. The same man who had dropped him like a meteor two days ago without so much as a raised voice.
Victor blinked at him.
Then sighed.
"Pretty much."
Chris smiled, stepping closer until the sun caught the edge of his glasses.
"Everyone had plans, I assume?"
Victor let his head fall back again, staring up at the sky.
"Obviously."
Chris laughed. A soft, rich thing. "Hah. That was a stupid question, wasn't it?"
Without waiting for permission, he eased down onto the bench beside him—legs crossed, hands folded neatly on one knee. The smell of cold steel and faint incense clung to him like memory.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" Victor asked lazily.
Chris tilted his head.
"Watching over you is better."
Victor squinted. "...Weird answer."
Chris smiled wider. "An honest one."
For a moment, they said nothing.
The wind picked up slightly, pulling at the long edges of Chris's coat and the loose strands of Victor's hair. Distant chatter from students reached them, filtered by leaves and stone.
Then Chris broke the silence again, his tone light—but his eyes watching too closely.
"That's not like you to be idle. Are you… still hurt?"
Victor turned his head slightly, brows raising.
"No. Body's fine. I didn't take any real damage." He tapped the side of his head with a single finger. "Just blacked out. Not used to getting knocked unconscious, I guess."
Chris hummed. Then he smiled. The kind of smile that held secrets like confessions under lock and key.
"Good."
He stood in one smooth motion, brushing invisible dust from his coat.
"Then," he said, eyes flicking down to Victor, "why don't you join the student council?"
Victor blinked. "...What?"
Chris shrugged. "I feel you'd be a perfect fit."
Victor narrowed his eyes, straightening slightly.
"On what basis?"
Chris didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a few slow steps forward—then stopped, turning his head over his shoulder.
That smile again.
But this time, it wasn't playful.
It was reverent.
Confident.
Almost worshipful.
"Because I know you," he said softly. "More than you know yourself."
Victor's brows twitched. "That's not ominous at all."
Chris chuckled and resumed walking.
"Besides... some roles choose the man, not the other way around."
Victor sat up more fully, suspicion threading into his tone. "... what do you mean by that? "
Chris raised a hand, waving off the question as he disappeared past a stone archway.
"You should help out the other clubs today. I'll handle the paperwork. Consider yourself a provisional council member."
Victor's voice followed him, dry and unimpressed. "I didn't say yes."
Chris's voice floated back, faint and laughing.
"You will."
And just like that, he was gone.
Victor stared after him for a long moment.
Then sighed, rubbing his temples.
"...I hate cryptic bastards."