The start of the new year at the Imperial Academy followed the same script, year after year.
Long speeches. Long lists of names. And the ever-dragging welcome ceremony inside the Grand Hall, draped in solemn formality and stitched into stiff uniforms. The scent of polished wood and candle wax hung faintly in the air, trapped under the high glass dome.
Riel sat among the fourth-year students, posture relaxed, elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand. He looked the very image of disinterest — which, in truth, he was. The only reason he hadn't dozed off yet was because that would've meant dreaming again.
And that, he couldn't afford.
Beside him sat Prince Navelleir, ever composed and pristine — black uniform with crimson accents, sharp lines, posture perfect. But Riel knew better. The slight shift of Nave's heel under the table. The faintest flick of his finger against his thigh. Signs of boredom most wouldn't catch, but Riel did.
They were both equally done with this ceremony.
"Welcome, esteemed students of the Imperial Academy, both old and new," the Headmaster's voice boomed with its usual pomp, echoing through the vaulted hall. "May this new year bring wisdom, discipline, and harmony..."
Riel's eyes wandered. His legs ached for movement. He would've taken a hundred strikes with a wooden blade over another minute of this formality. The Grand Hall was packed wall to wall, as usual, with first-years lining the corridor outside, ready to be announced.
Name. Applause. Repeat.
He barely heard any of them.
Another face. Another forgettable name.
And then—
A ripple passed through the air the moment she entered. It was faint, unspoken, but Riel felt it in the way the hairs on his arms rose and his grip on the table tightened.
He hadn't been listening to the name — he rarely did — but the moment his eyes fell on her, his entire body stilled.
Violet hair. Light, almost silvery under the sunlit glass dome above them. Eyes like deep-cut amethyst, scanning the hall with composure far beyond her age. She walked with the kind of posture drilled into highborns since childhood. Graceful. Controlled. Poised.
But Riel's heart stopped.
It was her.
Riley.
No matter the years. No matter the distance. That face... it was hers. Unmistakably so.
His breath caught, and only then did he catch the tail end of the announcer's voice echoing over the crowd.
"—Vyrilleya Vreisz."
Riel blinked.
Vyrilleya... Vreisz?
The name didn't fit. It sounded off — like a borrowed title worn too tightly, one that would chafe the skin if worn long enough.
But that girl...
Even now, standing tall in her spotless black-and-navy uniform — a mark of the Comun Curriculum — she radiated something fiercely familiar. The shape of her jaw, the way her eyes lingered just a second longer on the banners, the quiet tension in her shoulders.
He knew her.
No matter what name they gave her now, no matter how noble her air had become, it didn't change the truth burning at the edges of his vision.
That was Riley.
And somehow, she was here.
Beside him, Nave shifted.
Riel didn't need to look to feel it — the momentary stillness, the way his princely façade slipped for just one breath.
Then came a name, spoken like a question, more to Nave himself than anyone else.
"...Riley?"
Riel turned his head slightly.
A pause. A calculation.
"What?" Riel said, trying hard to sound as casual as ever. "You know that new girl?"
Nave's gaze stayed forward, but his jaw moved.
"We met once. Six years ago."
That was it. A shrug in voice form. The way Nave always answered things he didn't want people digging into.
But there had been something there — a faint crease at the corner of Nave's mouth, the kind that spoke of recognition he didn't care to admit.
Riel didn't ask further. He knew better than to chase a wall.
He shifted his gaze back to her — Vyrilleya Vreisz, the girl in the wrong uniform color, wearing the wrong name, walking with the wrong mask.
Still, he knew. With every cell in his body.
He knew.
That was Riley.
The one he went on endless missions with. The one he ever allowed to be close. The one he failed to protect.
⸻
Riley still couldn't believe it.
After two full years of relentless effort — memorizing lessons she once thought impossible, polishing her speech, enduring posture drills until her spine felt like stone — she was finally here.
The Imperial Academy.
She stood among dozens of other new students waiting behind the grand doors of the Great Hall, fingers curled neatly at her sides, wrapped in the black-and-navy uniform of the Comun curriculum. It fit perfectly now — like everything else she'd learned to wear, not just in body, but in spirit.
Her heart pounded, not from fear, but from anticipation. The light from the glass dome spilled onto the stone floor ahead, and the faint hum of applause filtered through the wood like distant thunder.
She had made it. Really made it.
And maybe... maybe today would be the day she'd see him.
The boy from her dreams. The boy who never left her — not even after all this time.
When Riley first shared stories about him with the people in her mansion, they always told her she might've imagined him. A lingering echo from a broken past. An aftereffect from the shock of the kidnapping incident that left her with amnesia.
But deep inside, Riley knew he was real. Somewhere within these massive stone walls, he was here. She could feel it in her chest — the same way you feel the warmth of the sun before even stepping outside.
Then—
"Vyrilleya Vreisz."
It was finally her turn to enter.
She took a breath, kept her shoulders relaxed, and stepped forward.
It wasn't just her name that had changed.
Her etiquette teacher — the same relentless etiquette enthusiast she'd had for six full years — would probably faint with pride if she saw her now. Or maybe cry. Again. She once joked that if she ever saw how gracefully perfect Prince Nave's posture was when he took his tea, she'd weep tears of enlightenment.
For most of those years, she'd looked at Riley like a lost cause. Hopeless. Crooked elbows, the wrong stride, hands that just didn't know where to go. But somehow, somewhere in the last year, it finally clicked.
And when Riley completed a full walk-and-curtsy combination without a single correction, her teacher did cry.
Riley still didn't know whether it was out of pure pride... or pure relief that her suffering had finally ended.
Probably both.
She almost laughed now, just thinking about it. But she kept her expression serene, like she'd been taught.
She walked with even steps, head high, eyes forward.
The Grand Hall unfolded before her like a page out of a history book.
It was bigger than she imagined. Marble pillars, golden-framed banners, rows and rows of uniformed students watching from their assigned seats. Black with navy trim — like hers — for the common curriculum. And black with dark red for the thriver track, unmistakably separated by rank and year.
It was overwhelming.
It was magnificent.
And it was real.
Applause echoed all around her — a warm, distant sound — as she entered the center of the hall. Just for a name being called. Just for walking forward.
It only lasted a few seconds, but during those seconds, Riley looked.
She scanned every face she could. Row after row, class after class. She wasn't sure what she expected — maybe a lightning bolt, or the sudden pull she always felt in her dreams.
And then — a prickle at the back of her neck. Like someone's gaze had found her in the crowd, steady and unblinking.
But the moment she tried to find it, it was gone.
Her place was already waiting — near the front, where the new common students sat closest to the podium. She took her seat with a quiet exhale.
He's here, she told herself. Somewhere. I know he is.
She didn't know how. She couldn't explain it.
But she believed it. With all her heart.