Seraphina Zenith had what most people would call an enviable life. As the princess of the Mount Hua Sect, she had luxuries spilling out of every corner of her existence. Fine silks, rare delicacies, and a breathtaking view of the floating gardens were just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. She never lacked for anything—except, perhaps, the thrill of it all. An older adopted brother had taken on the burden of being heir, leaving her free to meander through life like an aimless breeze. People often called this freedom a gift. Seraphina thought it felt more like wandering through a museum where all the exhibits were labeled, "Do Not Touch."
It wasn't that she hated her life; there was nothing to hate, really. But that was precisely the problem. Her days were so polished, so meticulously curated, that there wasn't a speck of grit to be found anywhere. The endless ceremonial dinners, the training that everyone assumed she excelled at (because how could a princess not?), and the hollow flattery—all of it wrapped her up in a cocoon of monotony. Life was a perfectly balanced equation, and that made it unbearably dull.
Class A had, at first, seemed like more of the same. It was the exclusive class for prodigies, filled with individuals whose family trees dripped with power and influence. The chatter in the hallways was all about the future this and the destined that. But as Seraphina sat in her usual spot, silently observing the others from behind an aura of detached serenity, she realized something was different here. The people, while equally privileged, weren't boring. No, they were sharp edges and jagged lines that didn't quite fit the mold society had made for them. And Seraphina, who prided herself on her indifference to most things, found herself leaning in.
Her gaze often drifted to Lucifer Windward. The so-called Second Hero had an air of inevitability about him, as though greatness was his birthright. His verdant eyes and noble demeanor made him look like the protagonist of some grand story, and his drive to grow stronger was palpable. Seraphina thought he might finally be the one to break her ennui. She watched him closely, waiting for something extraordinary. But while he was impressive, he was also… predictable. Strong, determined, and exactly what you'd expect of someone with his title.
And then there was Arthur Nightingale. He wasn't the loudest in the room, nor did he command attention like Lucifer, but there was something about him—something unspoken and unpredictable. He had a way of making the world around him bend, just slightly, in ways that didn't quite make sense. It was subtle at first, but Seraphina noticed. She always noticed.
Things grew more interesting when Rachel Creighton entered the picture. The destined Saintess was kind in a way that should have been sickly sweet, but somehow wasn't. Rachel's kindness was genuine, and Seraphina found herself oddly fascinated by her. More than that, though, she was drawn to the interactions between Rachel and Arthur. There was a spark there, something unspoken yet undeniable. For the first time in a long while, Seraphina's lips curled into a small, amused smile.
Then Cecilia Slatemark appeared, and the whole dynamic shifted. Bold, teasing, and unapologetically herself, Cecilia brought an entirely different energy. Watching her clash with Rachel and Arthur felt like witnessing a storm brewing. The chemistry, the tension, the chaos—it was everything Seraphina had been waiting for.
She leaned back in her seat, watching the three of them as though they were a particularly thrilling drama. The perfect balance of chaos and unpredictability had finally arrived.
For once, Seraphina wasn't bored. And for her, that was more than enough.
Seraphina sat quietly at her table, her tea untouched, watching the scene unfold with the kind of detached amusement one might reserve for a mildly entertaining holographic drama. Arthur Nightingale was, once again, the center of attention. Not because he wanted to be—no, Arthur never seemed to seek attention—but because it had an irritating habit of finding him anyway.
Today's spectacle featured the two princesses: Rachel and Cecilia, locked in yet another argument. They weren't exactly fighting over Arthur, but they weren't exactly not fighting over him either. The details didn't matter. What mattered was that everyone in the café was watching the scene with rapt attention, whispering amongst themselves like extras in a poorly written soap opera.
"Man, he's so lucky," someone murmured from the table next to Seraphina.
She ignored the comment but felt the faint urge to roll her eyes. Lucky? Hardly. If anything, Arthur's situation was less "luck" and more "consequence." People mistook his calm demeanor and clever maneuvers for serendipity, but Seraphina knew better. Arthur wasn't just lucky. He was annoyingly competent. A genius, really. Not the kind of genius that memorized ancient spell formulas or achieved perfect combat form, but the sort that seemed to play chess while everyone else was figuring out how to open the box.
She sighed softly as the crowd in the café began to thin out, the drama losing its audience as students returned to their equally unremarkable lives. Rachel and Cecilia, however, were still bickering with the kind of intensity that suggested neither of them would leave until they'd thoroughly exhausted the subject—or each other. Arthur, with the slyness of someone who had clearly done this before, took the moment to slip away. It wasn't a grand escape; more of a quiet sidestep into freedom.
"Hey, Seraphina," Arthur said as he approached her table, his smile both casual and slightly self-aware, like someone who knew exactly how absurd his life had become but wasn't about to complain.
Seraphina blinked, acknowledging him with a small nod. Her sharp gaze flicked over his face for a moment as a thought crossed her mind. 'Is he handsome?' she wondered absently. Compared to Lucifer Windward, the golden boy of the academy, probably not. But in the grand scheme of things? Definitely top-tier.
"Are you escaping?" she asked, her tone as direct as ever.
Arthur paused, caught off guard by her bluntness, before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah," he admitted.
"Puppet master," Seraphina muttered under her breath as she stood, her words barely audible but carrying just enough weight to reach his ears.
"I disagree," Arthur replied, not even bothering to look back as he walked away.
Seraphina watched him go, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She wasn't entirely sure if Arthur's life was a comedy, a tragedy, or some chaotic blend of the two. But whatever it was, it was far more interesting than the hollow perfection she was used to. And for now, that was enough to keep her watching.