Clara stared at the paper in my hands, my vision blurring. Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could even process them.
An admission letter.
Lavenham Imperial Academy – Department of Human Nature and Psychology.
I don't have to spend my life just working, marrying, and having children… I could study what I loved.
Her fingers trembled as she hastily signed her name.
The next second, she lunged at James, knocking him right off his chair.
Clara sank into his warmth, pressing her face against his chest. He was warm—solid and strong, the kind of presence that takes away every worry and tension immediately. The kind that you could rely on no matter what.
"Ahh Clara you're breaking my ribs—Leor, she's lost it." he yelped.
His words said one thing, but his hand—calloused and rough from years of labor—patted Clara's head with a hesitant, a little awkward and rough, but undeniably comforting touch.
She just laughed, holding onto him tight.
Finally, She whispered the words she'd been meaning to say for the longest time, for the calluses on his hands from working labor jobs at the tender age of ten, His eyes, never seen without dark circles, from the sleepless nights he had because of them.
For the tired reassuring smile that never leaves his face.
"Thank you."
A faint smile tugged at James' lips, his eyes softening as he looked at Clara.
"But how did you even afford the tuition? I don't have any kind of scholarship like Leor," Clara asked, pushing herself up from James' chest.
A good question.
After witnessing the potential of commoners, Lavenham Imperial Academy had opened its doors to all—for a price—like every other student—pay tuition—pass entrance exams—compete for limited seats.
Unlike nobles, these simple things were very challenging for commoners. Psychology alone cost nearly 15,000 gold pounds—an amount that, in our old house, could have sustained us for a lifetime in luxury.
Yet, Clara hadn't even taken the entrance exam. Suspicious. Middle-class families sink into a lifetime of debt to educate their children, and they're considered "well off."
"James, James, look at me," Clara gasped, eyes wide with horror. "Did you do something illegal to get the money? No… no, my brother is a criminal!"
Probably just teasing him.
"Now, now, calm down," James said, getting up, placing his hands on her shoulders, still grinning like a fool. "It's a program from our company. I was the employee of the year and won the opportunity. I don't really need to study anymore, so… it was your dream and all. It made sense for you to take it."
"Anyways, does it really matter how he got it?" Leor interjected. "He must've worked hard for it. Have some faith in him—even if he doesn't exactly look trustworthy."
He's very bad at lying and hiding something but probably didn't do anything illegal. If he did, Leor would only also wanna join if it pays that much.
"What do you mean I don't look trustworthy?" James asked grumpily, rubbing his chin with doubt.
Ignoring him, Leor clapped his hands together. "Let's have a banquet tonight to celebrate Clara's admission! It's been ages since we had one."
"You're right," James nodded. "I also got a huge bonus, so we can even afford to eat out tonight."
"Nah, I don't like eating out, at home!" Leor said with a sly grin.
"I'd love that," Clara murmured, lips pursed, adding reluctantly. "Thank you… both of you."
Glancing at the clock, it was already eight in the morning.
"We should get going," Clara said, suddenly rushing to gather her things. "Leor, your class is later, so you can relax for a while."
"Sure, I'll clean the dishes, buy mutton and rabbit meat, and some wine for the banquet," Leor sighed.
"Don't." Clara's eyes glinted. "You don't know how to bargain. Not even a little. I'll buy the meat on my way back, and James will get the wine. Just clean the dishes properly. Yesterday, I found stains on a glass—so gross. Don't be lazy all the time."
Leor froze in place, my head slowly lowering until my chin touched his chest. His shoulder trembled slightly, emitting a low, pitiful sound—half a sob, half a whimper.
He clutched my chest as if she'd shot him. "It hurts, Clara….can't you be nice for once?" He muttered, His voice trembling, sniffing audibly.
Clara glanced at Leor, unimpressed, then sighed as she crossed her arms. "Don't worry, you'll live," she said, shaking her head with the faintest of smiles.
I kept sniffling dramatically, while James's expression twisted in genuine concern. Oh, you innocent soul.
He passed a stern glance at Clara, which meant 'Why'd you do that, He's still a kid.'
Clara looked at James, shaking her head in mock disappointment.
Giving me one last look, half-warning, half-amused. "I am sorry, my dear brother. Remember, clean properly this time, okay? I'm serious."
James scratched the back of his head, reluctant to leave. "Alright, let's go, Clara. We'll miss Smith's carriage."
Mr Smith was a local carriage driver, who had become good friends with James. since they used his carriage daily, he gave them a lower rate, a deal they didn't like to miss.
"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving her off dramatically, still keeping up my exaggerated sulk.
Clara nudged James toward the door, and as they stepped out, James added, "Leor, don't forget to lock the door before you leave, and leave on time to not miss your class."
"Got it! You don't have to say it every time."
The door clicked shut. Finally, silence.
Haa. Still hungover from that shitty nightmare.
The world spun too fast, like I couldn't feel time, and it just passed.
The thought sent a brief chill down his spine, but Leor shook it off.
No point in dwelling right now.
Leor glanced at the pile of dishes, then shrugged. "Anyway, dishes. Oh, wait. I wanna read while I clean. Clara exaggerates. I can multitask just fine."
He strode upstairs, mind already on the novel he had left unfinished the night before.
Tragic love stories—he had a strange fondness for them. Maybe it was because, when daydreaming, he liked changing the fates of characters to his liking, In his mind Mikasa already has a happy ending, even though he hasn't finished the novel.
As he pushed open his bedroom door, a stench curled into his lungs—sharp, acrid.
His breath caught. 'Gas.'
His pupils shrank. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. 'Did I forget to turn off the gas lamp?'
Panic set in, but he forced himself to act.
Fuu!
He scanned the hallway, mind racing. If there was a spark—no, he couldn't let it get that far. His breath hitched as he blew out every candle in reach, one after the other.
Then—inhale. Hold it. Move.
He plunged into the room, boots hitting the floor in quick, rushed strides. The windows—open them. Now. He wrenched them wide, the cold morning air rushing in, tearing through the suffocating fumes. His lungs screamed, but he held on to the breath. Not yet.
His gaze snapped to the gas lamp by the bedside. The valve—slightly open. His fingers closed around it, twisting hard until it wouldn't budge. A heavy sigh of relief escaped as the tension eased from his chest.
He finally took a breath again. It still tasted metallic and heavy. He endured the disgusting taste of Gas, trying to locate the valve at the bedside.
"Huh, what's that?" Leor muttered barely audible, His eyes widening to the limit.
On the wall, something was scribbled in crimson ink—or was it blood?