Chapter 290: Title

“What I mean is...”

“Get lost!”

In an instant, endless chill swept out. A cutting wind, mixed with snow sharp as blades, spread outward with Celicia at the center.

The people surrounding them were blown staggering. As the cold surge passed, Bodor was directly frozen into an ice sculpture, that mocking grin of his stiffened into a face still full of disbelief.

The others barely managed to steady themselves. Exchanging terrified glances, they no longer cared about anything else and bolted.

But one of them, while running, turned back. With an apologetic smile toward Celicia, he scooped up the frozen Bodor, then kept running.

After all, they’d agreed beforehand that payment would be given whether it succeeded or not—no way they were leaving without collecting!

The crowd vanished from sight.

Soon, the thin winter sun poked up over the horizon. As the wind and snow gradually stilled, the forest’s edge regained its calm and serenity.

Bathed in the gentle morning light, a blond man had his arm around a girl’s waist. From behind, they looked like the closest of lovers—a scene that would draw smiles and middle fingers alike from anyone watching.

But shifting the view to the front...

“How long do you plan on holding me?”

Celicia suddenly turned her head, her gaze as sharp and chilling as ice-blades locking onto Muen.

“W-wait a sec.”

Sensing the danger, Muen hurriedly let go and stepped back, waving his hands with a sheepish grin:

“N-no need for that. We’ve already touched everything worth touching, haven’t we? It was just your waist. If you feel shortchanged...”

Muen puffed out his chest, solemn as a priest:

“I can let you touch me back.”

“...”

Celicia stared at him for a long moment. Then her eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped forward. The sweet fragrance of the girl mixed with chill rushed over him, her aura so oppressive Muen unconsciously felt a head shorter.

“You seem awfully full of yourself lately, Muen Campbell.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“After what happened the other day, your reputation in the Academy has practically reversed one-eighty. Especially among the first-year girls—they’re even saying all those stupid things you did before were either rumors others spread to slander you, or you deliberately smeared yourself to avoid being targeted. Anyway, in their eyes, it was never your fault.”

“What? N-no way.”

The old him really had been a purebred wastrel, one hundred percent. Sure, not all of it was true, but self-smearing? Whose insane idea was that?

Muen rubbed his nose, suddenly feeling guilty.

“And with certain people deliberately promoting it, you’ve now taken second place on Saint Maria Academy’s popularity and charm rankings.”

“Second?”

Muen blinked and asked curiously:

“Then who’s first?”

“Heh.”

Celicia didn’t answer, only continued:

“Anyway, congratulations. You’ve finally shaken off people’s prejudice, and in others’ eyes you’re now an outstanding, dazzling duke’s son. These days, if you wanted to prey on those little girls, you’d only have to crook a finger and they’d flock to you. You might even end up praised for ‘pampering your fans’ instead of gaining a bad reputation.”

Though she said “congratulations,” a violent chill suddenly climbed Muen’s back and stabbed straight into his skull.

“Th-that’s nonsense!”

He snapped with wide eyes, resolutely denying:

“Celicia, don’t be fooled by appearances. Do I look like some ultimate scumbag destined to be chopped up with an axe? When it comes to love, I’m pure—”

Before he finished, a blast of piercing cold smashed into his face.

The gale carried snow like exploding fireworks, and Muen was flung skyward by terrifying force. In midair he twisted through three and a half spins, five and a half, twelve and a half...

Until thump—he hit the ground headfirst, burying himself upside down in a piled snowdrift, leaving only his upturned butt pointing to heaven, a perfect monument accusing the unfairness of fate.

At least the force this time was lighter than before. He didn’t lose consciousness.

But just as he wriggled, trying to pull himself free, a dainty leather boot pressed down on his rear and slowly pushed him back in.

“...”

“I hear you’ve even gained a nickname. It’s spreading through the Academy?”

“Nickname?”

At the word, Muen froze. He’d been busy lately and hadn’t paid attention to gossip, so he had no idea anyone had stuck him with a title. He asked nervously:

“Don’t tell me... something like ‘Yellow Hair’?”

“Yellow hair? What are you talking about?”

“Not yellow hair?”

“Of course not. But... somewhat close.”

Celicia lifted her foot, her gaze fixed on his wriggling backside. The ice lake in her eyes rippled faintly as she said softly:

“Some people are calling you—the Blond Campbell.”

“...”

Muen was silent a moment.

“...So chuunibyou.”

“It is chuunibyou.”

“I’d rather be Flash, or Quicksilver, or Vengeful Folding Knife... something like that.”

“What nonsense are those? Pathetic fantasies of yours?”

“...Still, Blond Campbell... doesn’t sound bad.”

Lifting his head from the snow, Muen squinted against the light. Snowflakes mixed with the morning sun, forming a blurred painting in his vision.

“Pretty good.”

“Is it?”

Celicia brushed a strand of hair aside. “Then that’s fine. Looks like I won’t need to waste any extra effort straightening out the mood around here.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Huh? Already? We haven’t reached the school gates yet.”

“I don’t have time to waste on meaningless things like this.”

Celicia turned and left without looking back.

Muen twisted his head, watching her «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» retreating figure, and let out a crooked smile:

“Damn tsundere...”

Whoosh—

A piercing whistle split the air.

An ice-crystal longsword shot in from afar, grazing Muen’s cheek before nailing into the tree behind him.

Feeling a chill unlike before—this one genuinely able to kill—Muen turned pale, his knees weak, and cried bitterly at the retreating figure:

“Damn it, are you trying to murder your fiancé?!”

Celicia didn’t seem to hear. She never looked back.

Her silver hair scattered, her figure gradually vanished from his sight.

Only—

After Muen finally calmed himself and turned to leave as well, in the breeze lifting flakes of snow, a faint, cool, detached voice came—yet it was like winter sunlight, making his lips curl unconsciously:

“Take care on the road. Don’t die, Muen Campbell.”

“...But of course.”

Muen paused, then smiled, folding his hands behind his head. Crossing the last stretch of the forest path, he strode onto the bright, tidy avenue.

“The me now is no longer the me from the beginning who had nothing to lose.”

“So naturally, I’ll live all the harder.”