The woman-like man strode toward Tristan with an air of refined elegance and unwavering confidence, his silver hair dancing with the wind as though nature itself bowed to his presence. Yet, it wasn't just his beauty that commanded attention—his strength… his strength was overwhelming. Though still a few paces away from Tristan and Garfield, the weight of his presence bore down on them like an unseen force. It was marginally weaker than the Headmaster's, but potent enough to make even seasoned warriors tremble.
He arrived before Tristan, a smile playing on his graceful, almost feminine face, Darren trailing obediently behind him.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, voice smooth and polished. "If you don't mind, may we have a word?"
Tristan gave a silent nod, and Ruben turned, leading the way with regal composure.
Garfield stood frozen, his mouth agape in sheer disbelief. He was stunned—speechless. Though he hadn't known his brother long, this moment defied all his expectations.
"Ruben Green… and he said Brother was his sister's partner? Damn, bro. I knew you were something special, but this?" he murmured.
They entered Ruben's luxurious carriage, which promptly set off toward the Middle District. Inside, as the wheels turned beneath them, a new kind of movement stirred—a clash of ideologies ready to unfold.
"I sincerely hope your reason for involving yourself with my sister is a noble one," Ruben said, a gleaming smile stretched across his lips, though his eyes remained cold and unreadable. "Because if it isn't, I won't hesitate to erase your very existence from this world."
"I'm not using her," Tristan replied calmly, matching Ruben's tone with precision. "Ours is a mutual agreement—I help her achieve her dream, and she helps me resolve my burdens."
The air grew thick with tension. It felt like a single wrong word could ignite a confrontation that would shatter the very confines of the carriage. Darren sat stiffly, anxiety crawling across his skin, compelled to act before the situation unraveled.
"Gentlemen, perhaps we should take a breath and pursue a more civilized exchange," he interjected.
Ruben chuckled lightly, the sound unsettling. "This is civilized—as long as I'm afforded the respect I deserve."
Tristan's voice rang out, unwavering, firm as iron.
"I show respect only to those who earn it. And with all due respect… you haven't earned mine."
A bead of cold sweat trickled down Darren's temple. Ruben fell silent, the quiet hanging heavy. Darren could almost feel his heart trying to escape his chest as he wrestled with a dangerous question: Would he side with his lord… or his student?
"My Lord, do you require my intervention?" Killington asked from within Tristan's mind.
'Not yet,' Tristan answered internally.
Ruben's silence lingered—until he broke into a sudden, vibrant laugh, echoing like thunder in a canyon.
"Leave it to my sister to fall for someone with the gall to defy the natural order!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands. "You, a man of the Middle District, daring to speak so boldly to someone of High District blood? I commend your courage—and your refusal to kneel."
Darren exhaled, the storm he feared momentarily passing.
"So… you're aware of her ambition?" Tristan asked.
"Of course," Ruben replied, gazing out the carriage window. "She dreams of a nation without hierarchy—of equality, of a society where every soul is treated the same. A childish fantasy, if you ask me."
Tristan nodded, understanding the logic behind Ruben's words. Reforming the mindset of a single district was challenging enough—but changing the beliefs of an entire nation? That bordered on impossibility.
"It is childish, yes," Tristan admitted. "But the duty of elders is to feed those childish dreams until they mature. Dreams must either evolve into reality… or die as illusions."
Ruben was momentarily stunned, but then, slowly, a smirk stretched across his face.
"Hahaha. You and I… we're cut from the same cloth," he said with a refined laugh. "We think alike."
"And where do you stand?" Tristan asked, voice steady.
Ruben paused, deep in thought. He placed a delicate hand beneath his chin, closed his eyes, and pondered. After a few long seconds, he spoke.
"I believe in both visions. I will support my sister's dream. If it succeeds—then good. If it fails—then she'll understand that change is not always possible."
"I see," Tristan said quietly.
He wasn't certain what to make of the enigmatic figure before him. Was Ruben friend or foe? No… he understood now. Ruben, like himself, lived in the gray. He believed only in what his loved ones believed in, and even then, he didn't surrender all of himself to their causes.
Tristan turned his gaze to Darren, who had remained unusually quiet.
"Hey Darren… why so silent?"
"Me? Uh… um—I…"
Ruben answered for him with a chuckle. "I asked him not to speak during our discussion. Darren has a tendency to talk… excessively."
"You're right. He does."
Darren's expression twisted in mock fury, his glare saying everything without a single word.
'You'll regret that.'
Tristan let out a soft laugh.
Eventually, the carriage came to a gentle stop outside Darren's pub. Tristan and Darren disembarked, exchanged brief farewells, and made their way toward the door.
"Tristan!" Ruben called from the carriage window.
Tristan turned, approached the open window.
"Yes?"
"If you ever need anything—come to me. I'll do whatever is within my power to help you… and my sister."
Tristan gave a respectful nod and returned to the pub. Ruben signaled his coachman to depart.
The moment Tristan shut the door behind him, the entire pub exploded with celebration. Word of his triumph had spread, and everyone had gathered to honor him—even the fat man who had once sneered at him.
"Four cheers for the Middle District's pride!" a drunken voice roared.
Mugs were raised, and together they shouted with booming unity:
"Cheers! Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!"
The celebration ignited, and the sound of clinking glass filled the air.
A smiling Darren stood beside a stunned Tristan.
"Hope you like it."
"When did you plan this?" Tristan asked, his voice barely holding together.
Darren chuckled and gave him a gentle pat on the back.
"Took the whole day, but the boys pulled off one hell of a party."
Tristan's voice trembled.
"What if… what if I hadn't made it?"
"There was never any doubt. You trained hard, never complained, and remained relentless. None of us ever questioned that you'd succeed."
Tears welled in Tristan's eyes—tears not of sorrow, but of pure, overwhelming joy.
'I never thought… anyone would treat me like this,' he thought to himself.
Darren smiled, patting him once more.
"Enjoy it. You've earned it. But… don't think I forgot what you said in the carriage," he added, his smile tinged with hidden intent.
Tristan looked at him, sighed softly, and muttered, "What did I expect?"