Chapter 246: A Date. (Kofi Donation Bonus)

The barrier chimed softly, the sleek metal doors parting with a pneumatic hiss.

They stepped into the spacious, brightly lit foyer of the villa. The temperature inside was perfectly regulated, the smooth marble floors warmed from beneath, and the expansive living room opened up to floor-to-ceiling glass panels overlooking the sparkling, starlit clouds below.

Creed slipped his spear off his back, setting the Pale Horizon onto the weapon rack by the door, and kicked off his boots.

He walked over to the open kitchen, pulled out two glasses, and poured cold mineral water from the dispenser.

"Here," Creed said, walking back over and handing her a glass before sinking comfortably into the plush, floating armchair across from the main couch.

"Thanks," Amara murmured, taking a slow sip.

She looked around the massive living room, taking in the floating furniture, the crystalline fixtures, and the immaculate high-tier layout.

Even for an heiress from a prominent family like hers, the luxury of the top-ranked student villa was undeniably impressive.

"You really made a statement this few days, you know," Amara said, leaning back against the couch cushions, her tone shifting into genuine admiration.

"The whole academy is still buzzing about the duel. Alan hasn’t shown his face all day, and half the basic class looks like they’re ready to start a petition to ban you from using spears."

Creed took a drink, letting out a dry snort. "Alan was asking for it. If you’re going to challenge someone in front of two hundred people over wounded pride, you’d better be ready to pay the bill."

"I don’t think he expected the bill to include being frozen in terror and having the instructor pushed back by three steps," Amara chuckled softly, a genuine, warm smile breaking across her face.

"Even Damien was unusually quiet during our tactical review this afternoon. He looked like he had swallowed a lemon."

"Good. The guy’s had a face begging to be punched since Azure Sky Bastion," Creed said casually, stretching his legs out.

For a few minutes, the conversation flowed naturally. They talked about Varien’s absurd training methods, shared laughs about how terrified the other freshmen were of the upcoming Starlight Realm opening, and exchanged lighthearted complaints about the academy’s grueling theoretical exams.

With Amara, Creed didn’t have to put on the icy, untouchable persona he wore for the rest of the school.

They had fought side by side against waves of Treemen, survived near-death situations together, and understood the raw, unglamorous reality of combat behind all the noble posturing.

Gradually, however, the laughter tapered off into a comfortable, quiet silence.

The only sound in the room was the soft, ambient hum of the villa’s energy stabilizers.

Amara stared down into her glass, swirling the clear water gently. Her thumb rubbed along the rim, her eyelashes casting long, delicate shadows over her cheeks under the warm indoor lights.

The confident, sharp banter that usually defined her posture began to recede, replaced by a strange, quiet stillness.

Creed tilted his head slightly, watching her. "Something on your mind, Amara?"

Amara’s fingers tightened around the glass for a fraction of a second.

She took a slow, steady breath, looked up, and met Creed’s dark blue eyes. Her expression was remarkably calm, but beneath that practiced composure, Creed could see a faint, unmistakable flicker of vulnerability—a subtle, charming shyness that looked utterly foreign on the usually unshakeable ice queen.

"Creed," she began, her voice soft, measured, and completely devoid of her usual teasing sharpness. "The Starlight Banquet is in three days."

Creed blinked, nodding slowly. "Yeah. Pascal spent the entire afternoon lamenting about it like it was the end of civilization."

Amara let out a small, breathless chuckle, but her gaze didn’t leave his.

"Have you... found a date yet?" she asked, the words tumbling out casual on the surface, yet carrying a quiet, unmistakable weight beneath.

Creed leaned back against his chair, his expression honest and slightly tired. "No. Honestly, between training, managing my paths, and dealing with challenges, asking someone to a ball hasn’t really crossed my mind.

Pascal seemed to think I was just too shy to speak to women, which was hilarious, but the truth is I just didn’t care enough to scramble for an invitation."

Hearing that, a faint, visible wave of relief washed over Amara’s features.

She set her glass down onto the table with a soft clink, smoothed the fabric of her leggings, and looked at Creed with a direct, steady gaze.

Her cheeks carried a soft, rosy hue, but her chin was held high, refusing to shrink back.

"In that case," Amara said, her tone deliberately casual, though her heartbeat was subtly quickening, "do you want to go with me?"

Creed paused.

He looked at her sitting on the couch across from him.

Amara wasn’t like the starry-eyed girls giggling in the hallways who only saw the shiny, newly minted title of Class Captain.

She wasn’t Clara, who had used him as a convenient shield against Alan Snow’s public advances.

Amara had seen him at his absolute worst: covered in mud, bleeding in the jungle, exhausted, grumbling about food on a wooden raft, and hustling test-takers for credits with a wicked grin.

She was powerful, proud, and fiercely competitive, but she was also someone he genuinely trusted to watch his back in a fight.

And seeing that usually haughty, untouchable ice queen sitting in his living room, asking him out with that subtle, adorable touch of pink on her cheeks...

Creed’s lips slowly curled into a warm, genuine smile.

"You know," Creed said, his voice smooth and relaxed, "if we show up together, people are going to say the Elite Class is monopolizing all the visual talent in the room."

Amara rolled her eyes, but a bright, radiant smile broke across her face, completely shattering the lingering tension. "You really never miss an opportunity to praise your own face, do you?"

"It’s a heavy burden, but someone has to carry it," Creed chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked straight into her sky-blue eyes and nodded. "Yeah, Amara. I’d like to go with you."

Amara held his gaze for a second, her smile softening into something remarkably sweet, before she quickly stood up from the couch to hide the deeper blush creeping down her neck.

"Good," she said, smoothing down her jacket and turning toward the door with her usual dignified stride.

"Wednesday evening at seven. And Creed? Don’t wear that ragged uniform. If my partner looks like he just crawled out of an industrial compactor, I’m finding someone else."

"I have a suit," Creed laughed, rising to walk her to the door. "I clean up decently well, I’ll have you know."

"We’ll see," Amara replied at the threshold. She paused, looking back at him over her shoulder with a soft, lingering look, her eyes shimmering under the moonlight. "Goodnight, Creed."

"Goodnight, Amara."

The doors slid shut with a soft hiss. Creed stood in the quiet foyer for a moment, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps, before letting out a slow, content breath.

A tiny, faint warmth pulsed within his chest tattoo—a subtle, gentle resonance from his sleeping summons, as if even their dormant consciousnesses approved.

Creed stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders, and smiled into the empty room.

The Starlight Banquet was in three days. And for the first time since arriving at the academy, Creed was actually looking forward to it.