Chapter 51: The Silhouette on the Upper Floor

Chapter 51: Chapter 51: The Silhouette on the Upper Floor

Jeremy curled the corners of his lips slightly, the smile on his face carrying a bit of a lazy yet captivating charm: "Of course."

Receiving her desired answer, the quirky half-heart-shaped tuft of hair on top of Lomita’s head swayed back and forth, completely betraying the joy blooming in her heart.

Jeremy lowered his eyes to look at it, his fingers curling slightly. He almost couldn’t resist reaching out to press that quirky tuft of hair down, but fearing she would bristle, he patiently suppressed that amusing urge.

Lomita’s cheeks flushed red. Speaking contrary to her true thoughts, she hastily justified: "Don’t misunderstand, I only asked you out because I accidentally bet on the wrong team and won nearly two thousand points. I felt like I shouldn’t owe you a favor, that’s why I asked you out."

"Hmm, so that’s how it is. That’s good." Jeremy gave a perfunctory reply, dragging out the final syllable. He paid absolutely no mind to her reasoning; his head was solely preoccupied with wondering whether that swaying tuft of hair was actually her true main body.

Facing the young man’s unhidden, profound gaze, Lomita’s heartbeat skipped a beat. She awkwardly turned around: "I still have things to do, I’ll be leaving first."

But halfway there, she abruptly spun back around, biting her lip to drop a ruthless line: "If you dare to ignore me, I won’t let you off!"

Jeremy narrowed his eyes, the corners of his eyes curving into a beautiful arc, and leisurely replied: "Then please, make absolutely sure you don’t let me off."

Lomita: "..."

Her face suddenly burning hot as fire, Lomita gave a snort and then bolted away frantically without looking back.

Watching her retreating figure, the smile gradually faded from Jeremy’s eyes, and he quietly glanced toward a hidden corner on the second floor. From earlier, he had maintained a sharp sensation that a cold gaze was secretly watching him. He originally thought it was Lomita, but given this distance and angle, it clearly was not.

Jeremy looked up. Very quickly, a white-haired youth leaning against the silver crystal railing entered his line of sight.

Raphael...

The moment their eyes met in mid-air, before Jeremy could even clearly see the other’s expression, a tall figure blocked his view. Lucius firmly took a half-step forward; Lucius’s robust physique and broad shoulders thoroughly enveloped Jeremy, completely severing the invisible connection between Jeremy and the person upstairs.

"Captain, it’s time to go back." Lucius’s voice was hoarser than usual, carrying an indescribable hint of suppression and oppression. The protectiveness exuding from Lucius’s every micro-movement was extremely distinct.

"..." Jeremy withdrew his gaze, not wanting to entangle further with Raphael either, and took this opportunity to turn around: "Yeah, let’s go."

With that said, Jeremy took long strides toward the exit.

Lucius tilted his head slightly, coldly glancing at Raphael leaning against the second-floor railing. Upon taking in the cold disgust etched deeply within Raphael’s pupils, Lucius smirked mockingly, then turned around, steadily following close behind Jeremy’s every step.

Truly... he hasn’t changed one bit. Hypocritical to a ridiculous degree.

The figures of the five Eclipse Team members gradually merged into the crowd and disappeared. Anno, standing right behind Raphael, naturally also took in all the fluctuations from earlier into her sights. The shock within her chest had yet to show any signs of subsiding even up to this very second.

How could it be...

To think the young master was actually on the same team as Young Master Jeremy. That person... what on earth is going on? Why did he have to borrow someone else’s identity to infiltrate the Academy, and coincidentally land right in Jeremy’s team?

Could it be... he also already knew about that prophecy?

Anno swallowed nervously, carefully observing the side of Raphael’s face.

Cold. Gloomy. The atmosphere radiating from Raphael made others uncontrollably give rise to a bone-deep fear. This was the first time Anno had seen her young master reveal such a twisted expression since encountering Jeremy.

Anno lowered her head, cautiously probing: "Young Master, do we need to inform Young Master Jeremy about..."

That name almost slipped from her mouth; Anno panicked and bit her tongue to correct her words: "...that person’s true identity? It seems Jeremy still doesn’t clearly know who the person beside him is. That person has perhaps also meddled with the prophecy..."

Raphael did not answer. He stood still, completely assimilating into the thick, undispersable darkness of the hidden corner. His long, pale fingers slowly rubbed against the silver ring on his hand.

His thick eyelashes drooped, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile, as fragile as a thin mist. He lowered his eyes to stare fixedly at the empty space where Jeremy’s retreating figure had just vanished; within his long, narrow phoenix eyes intertwined a pitch-black abyss, so bottomless that no one could see through it.

A long time later, so long that Anno thought she would not receive a response, Raphael finally spoke.

"Just ignore it."

His voice was weightless, so gentle that it seemed the callous disgust he had just revealed a moment ago was merely an optical illusion.

"I am very curious. Will a rebellious sinner who always arrogantly mocks fate like him ultimately be led by fate itself, to tear apart his own wings with his own hands and step into the cage he once despised?"

---

The specific time of the next tournament round would have to wait until two days later to be announced. Jeremy reported the match results in the group chat, but Griffin went completely radio silent, having no intention of replying whatsoever.

This implicitly meant they didn’t need to go to the grandstand to watch the matches today; everyone could freely allocate their time. As for the next two free days, they would just have to improvise as things came.

Having gone through a day that completely drained his stamina, coupled with staying awake the entire previous night, Jeremy decisively chose to return to the dormitory to catch up on sleep right after leaving the island.

But the frustrating part was... right after splashing cold water to wash his face, his nerves were as taut as a bowstring, hatefully wide awake.

Sprawling on the spacious bed for an entire hour, he still couldn’t manage to close his eyes. Jeremy irritably ruffled his hair into a mess, rolled around on the mattress twice, and finally had to helplessly prop himself up to sit.

To him, the state where his body was falling apart yet his mind was sharp without a hint of sleepiness was truly a cruel kind of torture.

He glanced at the magic clock hanging on the wall.

13:21.

...What should I do to kill time right now? Clean up my storage space a little bit, perhaps?

Putting thought into action, Jeremy turned and walked out to the living room. He originally intended to dump all the items in his spatial ring onto the floor to take inventory, but having only poured out a fifth, the pile of miscellaneous items almost completely blocked the walkway. Left with no choice, he had to patiently divide it up and handle it in batches.

The majority of the stored items inside were currency, sparkling crystals, and dozens of various multi-colored potions. There weren’t many clothes, only about ten dress shirts, neatly hand-tailored trousers, along with a few sets of masculine pajamas. The rest were countless trinkets like jewelry, books, and a mountain of notebooks and assignments piled high...

Utilizing magic power to lift and sort each messy item into its proper place, Jeremy suddenly paused. Lying isolated amidst the pile of miscellaneous items was an exquisitely carved metal picture frame.

He reached out to pick it up, brushing off the layer of faint dust. It was a family portrait.

The original owner’s hair color was entirely inherited from his mother, while his sharp, lustrous golden eyes were cast from the exact same mold as his father’s. The photograph captured the image of a boy around four years old—the original owner—standing next to a twelve-year-old youth—the older brother who was eight years his senior. In complete contrast to Jeremy, the older brother bore white-blue gradient hair like their father, but his eyes shone with a brilliant rose-red hue. Flanking them on the left and right were their father and mother standing perfectly straight.

It was clearly a family portrait, yet the atmosphere within the frame was suffocatingly oppressive. With the exception of the original owner who was still young at the time, the facial expressions of the other three were uniformly frozen and apathetic, exuding not a single trace of familial warmth.

Fragments of memories regarding the Valmont family flashed through Jeremy’s mind. The emotionless political marriage of his parents had already predetermined their coldness. However, the true tragedy that deepened that distance even further was the disappearance of the older brother.

All that pain and loss, in the end, morphed into resentment, which they poured entirely onto the head of their sole remaining son—him. Under the identity of the only son, he was both the hope and the sinner bearing all the expectations and hatred of the family.

Even if he tried to dig deep, Jeremy could not find any trace of loving protection within those shattered memory fragments. He frowned in incomprehension. Why did the original owner stubbornly cling to and place such importance on blood relatives who fundamentally saw him as a jinx? Was it purely because of the so-called bonds of bloodline?