Chapter 85: Pairing with Liora

Liora stared at Elion with a deadpan look on her face. Clearly, she had not been expecting such an accusation to come from him.

She snorted, a sharp, unladylike sound that somehow suited her perfectly, and swatted at his arm again, this time with a bit more force.

"Don’t get ahead of yourself, hotshot. It’s not like that. I just figured you’d be more fun to hang around with during those boring-ass patrols than the stoic, silent Celeste. The girl’s like a damn statue—she barely says two words unless it’s to critique my good social skills!"

"Sure, sure," Elion said, smirk firmly in place.

And strangely... he meant it.

"Besides, I’m not much older than you. Calling me a cradle robber is a bit too much, don’t you think?"

The conversation flowed easily after that. Too easily.

For some reason, Elion found Liora incredibly easy to talk to, like the words flowed without the usual barriers. Even pranking her with that flick hadn’t felt out of character in the moment; it was just... natural

But with Liora, it felt natural. Like she wouldn’t bristle or take it the wrong way. She had that devil-may-care air, like nothing really stuck to her unless she wanted it to.

He liked that.

It was different from what he was used to. In a world where people were measured by strength, rank, and what they could offer, Liora seemed to operate on an entirely different axis. She lived on her own terms, unapologetically so.

He admired her for it.

Her voice cut through his thoughts. "Hey!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

Her breasts jiggled slightly with the motion, drawing his gaze back to her cleavage before he could stop it.

Elion blinked, realizing he’d gone quiet again.

"Don’t get all serious on me now," Liora said, pointing at him. "That’s exactly why I dumped Celeste."

Elion’s brow twitched.

The way she phrased it.

’Dumped?’

Why did that sound—very distinctly—like she was talking about a romantic breakup? Elion’s brow twitched, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

He glanced at her, suspicion creeping in, while Liora just kept talking, utterly oblivious—or pretending to be.

’...Yeah.’

This patrol was definitely not going to be boring.

"Anyway, enough about my ex-partner drama," she said with a wink, waving off the topic like it was yesterday’s news.

"Let’s talk patrols, since you’re the shiny new toy in the DC. We hit the floors—keeping an eye on the riffraff. Break up fights before they escalate, chase off anyone lurking where they shouldn’t, and report back on anything that could turn into a real headache for the school. It’s grunt work mostly, but it beats sitting in lectures listening to some old coot go on about theory when you could be out there honing your edge."

Elion leaned back, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he absorbed her words, the faint scent of her perfume—something sweet and spicy—wafting over him.

He could picture it: the two of them weaving through crowded halls, her pink hair a beacon in the chaos, "Sounds straightforward."

She grinned, her eyes lighting up with that infectious energy. "For you, first-timer? We’re sticking to the first year’s floor for a bit. No diving into the deep end yet—gotta make sure you don’t trip over your own feet and embarrass us both. We’ll patrol the lower levels today, handle the petty squabbles among your first-year peers, and keep the peace without straying too far. That way, we get the job done without the risk of getting your ass handed to you by upperclassmen."

Her hand gestured animatedly, and the motion tugged at her half-open blouse again, offering another teasing glimpse of lace and soft curves that made Elion’s throat dry.

He nodded, smirking to cover the way his gaze dipped for a split second. "Fair enough. Baby steps, I guess."

Liora’s excitement bubbled over then, her cheeks flushing as she slapped the table lightly, the sound echoing in the quiet office. "I’m only pumping you much, not much of anything ever happens in this school. But oh man, the best part? We get to skip classes— with no penalties, no bullshit excuses needed! Imagine it: while everyone’s stuck in those stuffy rooms scribbling notes, we’re out there, free as birds, dodging drama and actually doing something that matters. It’s like the school’s way of saying, ’Hey, you’re special—go play hooky and save the day.’’

She laughed, a bright, throaty sound that filled the space between them, her body shifting forward so her knee pressed firmly against his thigh now, warm and insistent.

Elion chuckled, the idea hitting him like a rush—freedom from the grind, paired with her. It made the DC feel less like a duty and more like an adventure, one where her devil-may-care spark could ignite all sorts of sparks. "Skipping classes without a hitch? Now that’s a perk I can get behind."

She tilted her head, her pink strands falling over one shoulder as she studied him, that playful glint sharpening.

"I knew you’d understand! Stick with me, and you’ll see just how fun it gets. Anyway, as I said, the first patrol starts right now!"

Liora stopped in front of one of the desks near the exit and picked something up, turning back to him with a small, satisfied hum.

"Ah—almost forgot."

She pressed a small object into his palm.

It was a black token with a phoenix engraved on it; it felt smooth and cool to the touch, faintly reflective under the office lights. Simple, barely adorned—yet it carried weight and authority.

"Your badge," she said. "Don’t lose it. Paperwork hell awaits anyone who does."

Elion chuckled softly and pinned it to his chest, just to the right. The metal clicked into place, secure. It felt... strange. Like crossing an invisible line.

"Feels official now," he said.

"Oh, it is," Liora replied cheerfully. "Congrats, you’re one of us poor souls."

They stepped out of the office together and into the corridor beyond. The halls were quiet. As they walked, Liora filled the silence effortlessly—stories about her classes, ridiculous disciplinary cases, and one very passionate argument involving a contraband snack vendor and a vice-instructor with a personal vendetta against sugar.

Elion listened, smiling lightly, nodding at the right moments.

Internally, he sighed.

’...Yeah. I can see how Celeste would get tired of this.’

Liora talked like she breathed—fast, animated, bouncing from topic to topic without warning. Exhausting, probably, if you weren’t in the mood.

But somehow... he didn’t mind.

They reached the elevator and stepped inside. The doors slid shut, and the platform began its smooth descent. Liora leaned against the wall, still talking, hands moving as she reenacted some particularly dramatic moment involving a student trying—and failing—to sneak a tamed beast into the dorms.

"Elion, I swear, the thing hissed at the instructor. Right at him. Boldest creature I’ve ever seen."

"I’m impressed," he said dryly. "Sounds smarter than half the students."

"Exactly!"

The elevator slowed.

Ding.

The doors slid open on the second-year floor.

An average-looking red-haired guy stepped in, pausing mid-stride when his eyes landed on Liora. His brows lifted in surprise, then softened into something warmer.

"Oh. Liora," he said. "Didn’t expect to see you."

"Hey, Makho," she replied easily, flashing him a friendly smile. "What’s up?"

Elion clocked it instantly.

The way Makho’s posture straightened. The slight adjustment of his jacket. The way his eyes lingered on her just a second too long.

’...Ah.’

The doors closed, and the elevator resumed its descent.

Makho’s gaze flicked to Elion. A polite smile followed, only surface-level.

Then, when Liora turned her head away, the smile vanished.

A frown, and then a sharp glare. As if assessing his position.

Elion met his eyes calmly.

’So that’s how it is.’

Maybe Makho had a thing for Liora. No—scratch that. He definitely had a thing for her.

Elion didn’t appreciate being antagonized for simply existing, but he wasn’t about to rise to it either. He simply looked away, his expression unchanged.

’On second thought,’

He activated his discerning eye.

Makho, he found, was barely trickling toward the mid adept mage stages. He was currently level 32.

While Liora was well into the Adept stage. Currently at level 37. It was obvious why Liora was a member of the disciplinary committee, while this guy was not. Sure, maybe strength wasn’t the only factor to be considered, but it played a huge part.

And given Elion’s capabilities, he was confident that he could handle this guy, despite the disparity between Novice and Adept mages.

"So," Makho said as he looked back toward Liora with a smile, voice casual, "who’s your... friend?"

The word was innocent enough.

But Elion heard the subtext loud and clear.

Before he could say anything, Liora blinked. "Oh! Right—I totally forgot to introduce you."

She turned, gesturing between them. "Makho, this is Elion. He’s a first-year."

She pointed briefly at his chest, then at her own badge—the identical black token resting just above her blouse.

"And as you can probably tell from the matching accessories," she added lightly, "he’s a new DC member. And my new partner. Elion, this is Makho, a classmate." Liora finished, smiling as if that settled everything.

Oof.

There it was.

Elion nodded politely. "Nice to meet you."

Makho returned the nod.

But the flash of hurt that crossed his face was unmistakable.

"...Likewise."

Just—A classmate

Not a friend.Not even an acquaintance.

Elion had to bite back an inward chuckle.

’Poor guy.’

That single word had drawn a very clear line. One Makho clearly hadn’t realized was there—or had hoped didn’t exist.

And Liora?

She seemed utterly oblivious.

Or worse.

Maybe she wasn’t oblivious at all.

Maybe she knew exactly how he felt—and chose to act this way out of some strange sense of kindness. Letting him stay close without ever crossing that line.

That thought made Elion reassess her.

...Scary,

he decided.

Very scary.

The elevator chimed again.

First-year floor.

The doors slid open, and Liora stepped forward without hesitation. "Alright! Back to the kiddie pool. You ready, partner?"

Elion followed, "After you."

And behind them, Makho watched them go—jaw tight, eyes lingering far longer than he probably meant them to.