So this… is what it feels like to be excited.
The thought drifted through Ziel’s mind as he walked, his hand patting the plump coin pouch at his waist. Excitement. A strange, warm, restless thing buzzing beneath his sternum.
One oversized chicken skewer costs 1 sel… so I could eat 2,500 of them.
His palms tingled at the memory. The skewers were enormous—three times the size of ordinary ones. He could still taste the charcoal, the pepper, the bursting juices.
Two thousand five hundred skewers.
Two thousand and five hundred.
…But.
“I want to try other things too.”
The world, apparently, was large. Full of food beyond skewered poultry. Unfortunately, Ziel’s world had always been painfully small. His exposure to cuisine even smaller.
“Hm.”
He turned his head, gaze sliding past the academy’s student cafeteria, past the teachers’ lounge dining hall, and toward a lone spire standing off in the distance.
“I hear the food there is good.”
The students whispered about it constantly. The Star of Lancaster. The most prestigious restaurant on campus—named after one of Edelvine Academy’s founding figures.
Ziel did not hesitate. With determined steps, he began walking toward it, his pulse oddly active for a place that served soup and meat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He stopped abruptly.
Somebody was walking toward him.
Gold hair swayed into view.
“Oh—Professor?”
“Dellev Kundel.”
Ziel regarded him quietly, head slightly tilted.
“Coming from training?”
Dellev blinked, startled. “H—How did you know?”
“You smell of dust. Your heart rate hasn’t fully calmed. I can also detect wood.”
Dellev’s mouth opened, then closed.
“You can see that?”
“I don’t need to see it to know it. And yes—there’s wood. Likely from a training sword.”
It was true. Dellev had, in fact, just finished a grueling sparring session. But being scent-profiled like a tracking hound was… unsettling.
What is this man? Seriously.
To a former assassin—more so to one once called the Wraith—it was hardly worth mentioning.
“No classes today, so you trained harder?” Ziel asked.
“Well… yeah,” Dellev admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “The selection trial’s soon.”
“So it matters to you.”
“I have to surpass my brothers.”
The moment it left his lips, Dellev went rigid.
Why did I say that out loud?!
“Arken Kundel, third year. Agris Kundel, fifth year,” Ziel recited.
“Right. My older brothers.”
“Why do you want to surpass them?”
“What?”
The question hit Dellev like a hex to the forehead. No one had ever asked him that before. Why surpass them?
Because… well…
Because that’s just what sons of great houses do, right?
“Just… because,” Dellev muttered. “I want to get stronger. If I surpass them, maybe Father will acknowledge me more.”
“So you want to become the head of the house.”
“……Not exactly.”
Dellev exhaled.
“I just want to get stronger.”
There was another reason. A very real reason.
One he could absolutely never say out loud.
They don’t play with me anymore, okay? Ever since they entered the academy, they won’t duel with me! They say I’m too weak now!
Childish? Yes. Mortifying to admit? Also yes.
“I see,” Ziel replied solemnly. “Understood, Dellev Kundel.”
Dellev, who had not mentally prepared to unpack his entire life story today, quickly coughed.
“Um—Professor, where are you headed? You don’t have classes either.”
“To eat.”
“Oh.”
Right on time—
GrrrOOORRRGLLLE.
Dellev’s stomach performed a dramatic protest.
The consequences of intense training.
Dellev froze. Ziel stared.
“Hungry?”
“………Yes. Very.”
“Then let’s go eat.”
“…Huh?”
Ziel suddenly recalled a book he had recently read: How to Be a Beloved Teacher, Not a Hated One — a self-improvement guide of dubious legitimacy but immense confidence.
—If you wish to get closer to students, sharing an activity is a good start.
This—he decided—was that moment.
***
Celia spotted them first.
“Oh!” she lifted a hand, ready to greet Ziel—until she saw who was walking beside him.
“Dellev?”
Before she could piece together the situation, they disappeared through the restaurant doors.
The Star of Lancaster.
A place Celia had never entered, despite being a Richard.
Sure, it wasn’t technically out of reach—but stepping inside even once would vaporize her monthly allowance in a single, glamorous explosion.
“There’s no way he’s paying,” she muttered, staring.
A second later, realization struck.
“…So Dellev’s footing the bill?”
She snickered. That tracked. Trying to score professor favor, perhaps?
But then—
Why this restaurant? Of all places?
Her eyes narrowed.
“Wait. Unless…”
Her brain leaned toward conspiracy before she could stop it.
“Is this… a House Kundel strategy?”
Her head suddenly felt muddled.
When she thought about it, Professor Ziel was rather unusual.
He wasn’t even a full professor—just an instructor—yet he treated every student the same regardless of their family name, and no one seemed to cow him.
He had even sent Dellev sprawling dozens of times in their first lesson.
There was something about him.
It was obvious.
Even the real professors handled heirs of great houses with delicate care.
They didn’t fawn, of course, but their manner changed; they were more restrained, more precise.
Ziel showed none of that.
“Steelheart… Steelheart, huh.”
It was a name she’d never heard before, then or now.
The students had been whispering all kinds of theories.
Maybe it was a fallen house.
Maybe it was a newly ennobled family.
“Maybe someone powerful is backing him.”
Without such backing, no one could act so blithely ignorant.
“Which would mean…”
Were the Kundels trying to secure a contact in advance?
Political sparring among capital families could be fiercer than anyone guessed.
Celia did not know the details; she was still young.
Perhaps that made her thoughts even more tangled.
But one thing was certain.
There had to be a reason a teacher would take a student to such an expensive restaurant.
“The Kundels are no joke.”
This was not the time for idle speculation.
Celia hurried back to the dorms.
She felt she ought to write to her family.
***
The meal had been splendid.
At least for Dellev.
I can’t believe the teacher would take me somewhere like this, Dellev thought, feeling both proud and light-headed.
The Kundel family was vast.
Naturally, the standard of dining at their table was high.
The finest ingredients.
The best spices.
A chef who moved like a conductor.
The meal at the Star of Lancaster lived up to that expectation.
It’s the sort of place that exists solely for visiting dignitaries and the wealthier staff or students of Edelvine Academy.
So when Dellev found himself there, he was surprised.
“This isn’t very tasty,” Ziel said casually.
Had he been here before?
Ziel’s manner throughout the meal was practiced and graceful.
The way he handled cutlery.
The direction in which he placed his fork and knife.
The economy with which he carved his meat.
He never made a sound while eating, and every little etiquette was flawless, like someone taught at the strictest table.
Maybe Steelheart was once a truly grand house.
If so, everyone would have known.
What had he been before?
Even here, in such a costly place…
Does the teacher have expectations of me?
Dellev felt a small swell of emotion.
After that humiliating first lesson, resentment had flared inside him.
But curiosity had grown too, and—slowly—diligence.
In a recent class, Ziel had offered praise Dellev had not expected.
It meant I should do better.
Yes.
That was it.
A special student.
A favoured pupil.
Otherwise, why treat him to such an extravagant meal?
Most special among forty students.
From now on, he would train even harder.
He would pass the selection.
He would triumph at the exchange match.
“Thank you for the meal, Professor.”
“Did it suit you?”
“Yes. It was delicious.”
Dellev asked then, somewhat puzzled.
“You said earlier it wasn’t very tasty… did you not enjoy it?”
“It’s not that. I ate something more delicious, not long ago.”
For Ziel, it had been a chicken skewer.
But Dellev heard it differently.
Did he go somewhere even more magnificent?
Tastes differ among people.
Ziel preferred the rough, quick pleasure of a skewer bought at a cart over a slow, elaborate delicacy.
“Finish eating and let’s rise.”
“Yes, Professor.”
A waiter approached.
“Excuse me, sir, was everything to your liking? Here is the bill.”
Ziel froze.
His hand trembled very slightly as he took the paper.
Dellev didn’t notice the quiver, but Ziel’s eyes flickered.
My salary…
Two thousand four hundred sel.
The bill.
He had withdrawn two thousand five hundred sel from the Imperial Bank for his monthly pay.
He had not expected it to be this costly.
A sinking feeling settled in his chest.
Was this what displeasure felt like?
“Professor?”
“Er, Professor?”
“Ah, Dellev Kundel.”
Ziel paid the bill.
They had eaten, and that was done.
He could not help how he felt.
“Thank you for the meal, Professor.”
“Ah, Dellev Kundel.”
“You treated me to such an expensive meal.”
“It seems so.”
Ziel told himself he would not come here again.
“Yes. This single meal is slightly less than my weekly allowance.”
“……”
Ziel resolved once more to earn much more money someday.
“You have generous pocket money.”
“My father gives me an extra thousand sel each year when I move up a year.”
“I see.”
A new feeling lifted its head: envy.
As an assassin, Ziel had never worried about spending money.
Not because he had riches, but because there had been no reason to spend.
Until he came to the academy, the only money he had ever handled was the small sums issued for missions, passed on to contacts or bribes.
Money matters, after all.
An unforeseen expense left him disconcerted.
Ziel swore to himself he would be thrifty henceforth.
I must stretch a hundred sel until the next payday.
Another thought followed.
If I become a professor, my salary will rise.
Instructors did receive raises, but only upon contract renewal—and the increases were modest.
I must become a full professor.
He renewed his resolve.
“Next time, I’ll repay you.”
“No. It’s unnecessary.”
“But this was an extravagant treat.”
“A teacher must not accept gifts from students. It compromises the teacher-student relationship and fairness.”
“My father always said that if someone gives you something, you must return it.”
Ziel shook his head.
“That cannot be.”
But then a line from a book he had read came back to him.
“If you feel compelled to repay, repay by growing. Let your progress be the return.”
Thump!
Dellev’s heart ratcheted up.
Was this what nobility looked like?
To reward with a meal and demand growth as repayment!
“I will. I shall work diligently, Instructor.”
He had been won over.
Books are useful, Ziel thought.
He would read more in the library henceforth.
Who could have guessed the advice between covers would be so practical?
“It’s late. Let us return.”
“Where will you go, Professor?”
“To the staff lodging.”
“Oh. Come with me. It’s right next door.”
“Ah. Very well.”
Ziel and Dellev walked side by side.
Each carried different thoughts.
How will I make a hundred sel last until payday?
I must write home and tell Father. Maybe mention Steelheart—would he know them?
A deepening bond between teacher and pupil warmed the night.
Dellev felt light and buoyant.
He had once felt humiliation, and a spark of antagonism.
But now he wanted recognition.
Recognition from the teacher who had pushed him hardest.
He had earned praise.
He had been treated to a costly meal.
Then…
It felt wrong to end the day so soon.
Perhaps it was the food.
Perhaps it was simply the mood.
“Teacher.”
Dellev stopped.
“I’ll return a bit later.”
“Is there a reason?”
“I’ll do more training before I go in.”
Ziel watched him.
Admirable.
Click.
A pocket watch opened.
“It’s after nine.”
“……”
“From ten onward are penalties.”
Of course.
No flexibility at all.
“Very well. I’ll go in.”
And just as Dellev’s shoulders drooped—
“Walking with a teacher exempts you from the rule.”
Cliche Novel 