And Elea? She's still standing there, speechless, her face a masterpiece of "I-can't-believe-this-idiocy." She did briefly consider knocking Irvine's head from behind, but giving him the grilled meat came from genuine sympathy.
After all, how could she not feel bad for someone who looks like he's been surviving on a diet of expired crackers and broken dreams? But now? Now Irvine's baseless accusation hits her like a slap in the face.
"Tch!"
Her expression twists into something that could force a baby to stop crying. Words fail her, so she opts for the universal response of "fine, I'm done here" and leaves before she either cries or punches him.
Unbeknownst to her, this little drama has already gathered an impromptu audience. The students hanging around nearby can't believe what they're seeing.
"This is the first time I've ever seen someone talk back to Elea Adlen and left in one piece!"
"Who's that guy? He looks like a broomstick with a bad attitude."
Irvine, now realizing he's the unwilling star of this tragicomedy, glances around nervously. That's when he spots him, the guy. It's none other than Myriil Gremenor, the mountain elf heartthrob and walking embodiment of smugness. The elf dude lounges at a nearby table like he owns the place, surrounded by two adoring women who seem dedicated to inflating his already enormous ego.
Irvine's mood, which was already in the dumps, plummets further. Apparently, Myriil catches Irvine's glare and responds with a smirk that could be weaponized.
"What's with that look?" he sneers, tilting his chin upward like a king addressing a particularly unimportant peasant. "Didn't you say you were going to kill yourself or something? What happened? Did your fear outweigh your pride?"
The girls beside Myriil perk up like they're watching the juiciest soap opera.
"You know that guy?" one of them asks.
"Of course!" Myriil replies, brushing off an imaginary speck of dust from his shirt. "We're in the same class."
"Really? Doesn't seem like he likes you much," the girl giggles.
"Oh, but he does!" Myriil says, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Poor kid even said he wanted to be just like me one day. Can you imagine? To be like me! As if someone like him could ever come close. Isn't that an insult to the talent I possess, and to this academy that judged him as the least talented recruit?"
Irvine clenches his fists so hard his knuckles turn white. Oh, how he wants to deck Myriil right in his smug, perfect face. But he knows better. Myriil isn't just an insufferable pretty boy; he's also terrifyingly dangerous.
<< That's it! You better swallow your pride for now. There's no shame in retreating from a meaningless fight you know for sure you can't win. >>
"That's right," Myriil calls out as Irvine turns to leave. "Run along, little coward!"
And the pretty elf boy isn't done with that just yet. With a dramatic flick of his fingers, he gestures toward a glass of water on the table. The liquid inside begins swirling, moving like two synchronized swimming eels. The girls giggle, clearly entertained.
Curious Irvine can no longer ignore the antics. Hence he turns around to see what's going on.
And then—
"Crash!"
The water explodes, splashing straight into his face. The girls erupt into uncontrollable laughter, clutching their sides like they've just witnessed the comedic event of the year. Myriil leans back in his chair, laughing so hard it's a wonder he doesn't fall over.
"What's the matter?" he jeers, pointing at Irvine. "If you've got something to say, say it! Or are you too busy drying off?"
Irvine's face burns with humiliation and anger, but his feet refuse to cooperate. As much as he wants to charge at Myriil and punch that smug grin off his face, his legs feel like they're made of lead.
"See? Total coward!" Myriil declares, basking in the attention. "Just like the last time when I played with your girlfriend! Go away and hide your ugly face somewhere!"
The girls, of course, are delighted.
"Wait, wait. This guy has a girlfriend?" one of them asks, incredulous.
"Pfft! There's no way someone like him would have a girlfriend," another chimes in.
"Now I'm curious what his girlfriend looks like."
"Well, she is as useless as he is," Myrill replies, grinning wickedly. "Not that it matters now. I bet she already dumped him after I humiliated her in front of him yesterday."
"What did you do?"
"Oh, nothing too serious," Myriil replies casually. "Just a little humiliation. She cried, he trembled, and I laughed. Classic stuff. Gyahahaha!"
That's it. Irvine, unable to take any more insult, storms out of the room, his pride in shambles and his dignity trailing behind him like a crumpled piece of paper stuck to his shoe.
Now he's spiraling into self-loathing. He hates Myriil. He hates those girls. But most of all, he hates himself—for being too weak, too pathetic, too everything.
Atniel, ever the opportunist, intercepts Irvine before he storms into the dormitory and leads a one-man pity parade. Without much ceremony, he drags Irvine toward the Morbid District.
And Irvine, still boiling with rage, barely notices where he's heading. Instead, he's too busy grumbling under his breath, as if narrating his own personal tragedy for an invisible audience.
"Unbelievable," he mutters, kicking a rock like it personally offended him. "That smug elf, those giggling harpies, and…"
<< Relax. It's just a childish prank. >>
"Childish prank my ass!" Irvine snaps, his face redder than an overripe tomato. "He didn't just laugh at me—he shredded my dignity into confetti and threw it in the air like some twisted parade!"
Atniel remains silent, wisely deciding not to poke the metaphorical bear any further.
Before long, they reach the shadow of two towering buildings, relics from when the district was the crown jewel of nightlife debauchery. Now? It's more like the crown jewel of bad decisions and graffiti.
Irvine suddenly halts, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the infamous bridge above him. He looks up, then his brows furrowing in suspicion.
"What the…?" he squints at the bridge where he'd swan-dived into misery yesterday. "You dragged me here just to commit another suicide? Is this some kind of motivational therapy I don't know about?"
<< No, genius. If I wanted you to jump, I'd have brought a trampoline. Now stop whining. I just want to help you to forget that pretty boy. Forget him, forget the girl. Move on. Anger solves nothing. >>
"Oh, shut up!" Irvine yells, his voice cracking. "This is no longer about Maya! That guy! He knew how much I looked up to him, and he spat in my face. How am I supposed to let that go?"
As tears of rage threaten to spill, Irvine suddenly notices he is not alone there.
"What the…? Is this the war you were talking about?"
<< Well, I actually invited you to this place to meet them. >>
He is now surrounded by Spiky-spine White Fangs, their low growls making it clear they don't appreciate uninvited guests.