Chapter 165 I’m Choosing

Dorian’s voice filled the assembly hall like warm syrup, each word polished to a shine for the back rows. Behind him a silk-draped chair waited at center stage, an empty seat with a white lily on its cushion.

"A President is missing," Dorian said, laying a hand over his heart, "and I remember her when nobody else does."

’He’s dressing an empty chair like a tombstone... and the whole hall is already crying for it.’

Lowell moved along the stage lighting candles one by one, his face solemn, his smirk well hidden behind it. Six flames rose in a ring around the chair, drawing the whole crowd forward in their seats like moths.

Dorian raised the last candle high, "By the old rite, I call back the one this academy has lost."

Golden light gathered around his shoulders as the crowd’s attention poured onto him, thick as honey on a spoon. Every student in the hall leaned toward the ring, hungry for a miracle that somebody else scripted for them.

"Today this academy does not forget," Dorian said, lifting his arms, "today we remember together."

"Look at him," a girl whispered, "he really remembers her... nobody else does."

Riven walked out from the wings with his hands in his pockets, crossing the stage in six unhurried steps. Gasps rippled through the rows as the villain of Class Zero strolled into the middle of the sacred rite.

"Step back," Dorian said softly, "this rite is not for you."

"You skipped the name," he said, plucking the candle from Dorian’s fingers and pinching out the flame.

A muscle jumped in Dorian’s jaw before the smile returned, smooth as freshly poured wax over a crack. Forty rows watched the two of them, divided between hope for the rite and hunger for a fight.

"This is a sacred moment," Dorian said evenly, "and you are a guest at it."

Nodding toward the wings, he answered, "Then I’ll behave like one and bring a present."

At the back of the hall the Company stood in a row, Mara’s tail lashing, Nix bouncing on her toes. Yukine watched from the aisle with a single raised eyebrow, plainly deciding which of them would lose the next argument.

Riven turned to the crowd, his voice carrying to the rafters, "Her name is Ysabel, she never needed a rescue."

The name landed in the rows like a dropped bell, tilting a hundred faces toward the sound at once. Memory poured back through the whole hall in a sudden rush, faces blank one moment and stricken the next.

"Madam President," Petrik whispered from the front row, pen shaking, "I wrote your name down twice."

"Her signature is on every page!" Bessel cried, clutching the minute book to his chest.

Ysabel walked out of the wings, her name restored, gravity returning all at once like a rising storm. The front row folded to its knees without a single command, hats tumbling, hymnals thudding to the floor.

"Why does this keep happening to me every single week?" Pryce moaned from row three, already kneeling beside his fallen hat.

Headmistress Ro rose from her seat on the dais, looked at the kneeling rows, then sat back down with a sigh, "Carry on."

Across the hall students stumbled to their feet, rubbing their foreheads like sleepers woken from a nap. Lowell quietly snuffed the remaining candles, wearing the face of a man whose employer lost a bet.

"Ysabel," Dorian said gently, offering his hand, "I never stopped looking for you."

She ignored his hand, his smile, his candles, crossing the stage like a tide going calmly past a pier. Dorian’s outstretched fingers hung in the open air, a man waiting patiently for a handshake from a closing door.

"I’m not kneeling," she told the hall, her voice reaching the last row.

She planted herself at Riven’s side, one hand closing on his sleeve, "I’m choosing."

"It’s different."

[ Harem Ledger: Dorian ]

[ Reclaimed by choice: Yukine ? | Ysabel ? ]

[ Joint Account opened: Dead Weight ]

Dorian’s candle slipped from his fingers, rolling across the stage and out of the ring of flames, still lit. He stared at the notebook in his other hand, where her line now read nothing at all, only paper.

"This was not the order of events," Dorian whispered, "she was supposed to say my—"

Stepping past him toward the stairs, he said, "It never is... that’s the fun part."

---

The Council balcony overlooked the whole courtyard, where lanterns still swung from the afternoon’s celebration of her return. Ysabel stood at the rail with her back to him, fan folded, shoulders very straight in the dark.

"Two days," she said quietly, "and everyone looked through me like a window."

"I looked."

"You tasted," Ysabel said, finally turning, "it is not the same, but it will do."

"Your name tastes like thunder right before it breaks, if you want the review."

"I want it in writing," she said, though her smile wobbled.

She drew a breath, cheeks coloring in the lantern light, "Kneel for a kiss, that is the whole proposal."

"I don’t kneel for anyone, that’s kind of my brand."

"Then I shall fix the problem myself."

She crossed the balcony in four quick steps, then dropped to one knee in front of him. Her hands caught his collar, pulling him down to meet her, the kiss clumsy, furious, entirely sincere.

"You said I’d never see you kneel," he murmured when she let go.

She stayed on one knee a moment longer than the gesture required, forehead pressed against his sternum, breathing hard. The famous gravity around her softened to almost nothing, a quiet storm resting its tired chin on his chest.

"That was a one-time offer, you will tell no one," she said, finally dusting off her skirt.

’The girl who made a whole school kneel... just knelt for me, then pretended it was a clerical error.’

Behind the balcony door, five faces were pressed to the gap, Mara’s ears flat, Nix scribbling notes madly. Yukine stood at the rear with her arms folded, one eyebrow raised, entirely unsurprised by the whole result.

"The motion to admit her is carried," Isolde announced, stepping out with her rulebook, "and I object to the minutes."

"I am Secretary," Nix said, hugging her notebook, "so I draft them."

"Seconded," Veska said, saluting with the butt of her spear, "I shall draft her oath."

"I declare myself Vice-Chair," Ysabel said, lifting her chin.

"The chair is mine," Mara growled, "you can be a cushion."

Mara stepped between Ysabel and the doorway, tail curling slowly like a question mark above her shoulder. Ysabel met the glare from half a head lower, completely unbothered, her fan tapping against her palm.

Nix flipped her notebook shut, grinning from ear to ear, "I’m putting her down as a cushion with opinions."

"Article nine requires a vote for that title," Isolde said, rapping the rulebook for emphasis.

"I hold the tiebreak."

"There is no tiebreak, we are six now, it is a plain majority."

"There is now," Ysabel said sweetly, tucking the fan into her belt like a gavel.

A cold draft rose from the drain grates below the balcony, carrying the smell of river and damp rot. Nobody noticed except Riven, whose tongue caught the faint taste of hymn seeping slowly up through the narrow gratings.

"Fine," a woman’s voice drifted up from the drain, "then we take a heavier one."