Chapter 537. The Ginger Was Perfect (Don’t Tell Clara)

Chapter 537: 537. The Ginger Was Perfect (Don’t Tell Clara)

William sat motionless, the cold wind biting through his shirt as he processed her plea. Her words didn’t just land; they echoed in the hollow chambers of his memory.

He thought about the ghosts that haunted the periphery of his mind. In his first life, he hadn’t been a teacher; he had been a forge.

He had believed that pressure created diamonds, but he had forgotten that too much pressure simply shatters stone into worthless dust.

He thought about all those students he had pushed, the ones he had driven toward greatness with relentless, unforgiving discipline and how many of them had broken in all the wrong directions.

Some had become monsters; some had become corpses; others had simply become hollow shells of the people they were meant to be.

Then, a sharper memory cut through the fog: the flash of steel in a dimly lit corridor, the wet slap of blood on stone, and a particular student whose eyes had gone glassy with madness.

He could still hear that voice cold, distorted, and utterly convinced of its own righteousness, hissing, ’Everything was supposed to be mine.’

The memory left a bitter taste in his mouth that even the burnt bread couldn’t match. He realized then that he had never truly understood the difference between discipline and cruelty.

He had never been fair to those who needed patience more than pressure.

"I’ll give you time," William said finally, his voice rough like gravel.

He didn’t look at her; he looked at the horizon where the darkness met the sky. "But I need you to understand something, Clara... I am not a patient man by nature."

He turned his head to meet her gaze, his expression grim. "If Ellie gets hurt... if she bleeds or breaks because of something you knew and chose to bury, I won’t be able to stay quiet about it."

"I won’t be able to stand by and watch her suffer while you wait for the ’perfect’ moment to speak."

"I’m not threatening you, Clara... I’m simply stating what I am."

"I won’t pretend I can play the role of the silent observer... when someone I care about is in danger."

The tension between them was palpable, a physical weight that seemed to press down on the rooftop. For several heartbeats, neither spoke.

"I know." Clara finally turned to face him properly, and for the first time that night, the analytical mask was completely gone.

Her eyes were glassy, swimming with unshed tears that caught the moonlight, but she did not let them fall. "I know exactly who you are, William."

Her voice was steady despite the vulnerability in her expression. "And you shouldn’t stay quiet."

"If it comes to that... if her safety depends on the truth being told... then you shouldn’t."

She stood up abruptly, the movement so sudden it startled him. Before he could react, she reached down and grabbed the entire paper bag of snacks, pressing it forcefully into his arms.

"Take it," she commanded. "All of it."

William looked down at the bag. The ginger was there, tucked inside with the beef and the biscuits.

It was a clumsy, desperate gesture—the closest thing to an apology she could manage without shattering her own carefully constructed defenses.

It was her way of saying she was sorry for the burden she was placing on him and sorry that she couldn’t give him what he wanted.

Without another word, she turned and disappeared through the maintenance hatch, her footsteps fading quickly as she retreated into the safety of the dormitory.

William was left alone on the roof, the silence rushing back in to fill the space she had vacated. He sat there with an armful of food and a gnawing, uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

The girl who always had an answer for everything, who could dissect any problem with clinical precision, had just run out of ways to talk around the truth. The silence she left behind wasn’t peaceful; it was ominous.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a piece of the candied ginger. He hesitated for a moment, remembering her warning, then popped it into his mouth.

It was sharp, spicy, and intensely sweet. It was perfect.

"That’s not fair," he muttered to the empty night sky.

...

The next morning, the Astraea Combat Academy did not wake up with its usual disciplined cadence. Instead, it began to hum with the chaotic, jittery energy of festival preparations.

The city’s grand autumn celebration was only two days away, and the air itself seemed charged with a nervous excitement.

The Academy had been assigned a stall in the main square, a prestigious, if somewhat dangerous, assignment that meant they would be representing the institution to the civilian populace.

Naturally, this meant someone had to be put in charge of it.

Albert, in a decision that William would later privately describe as either a stroke of administrative genius or a deeply sadistic experiment in human patience, had appointed Lia and Kaela as co-organizers.

By ten o’clock, the supply room had already become a makeshift war room. Lia and Kaela stood amidst stacks of wooden planks and canvas rolls, looking less like festival organizers and more like generals preparing for a siege.

Lia held a small whiteboard like a shield, while Kaela clutched three buckets of paint as if they were weapons of mass destruction.

"The color has to be neutral, Kaela..."

"We have to consider psychological branding," Lia said, her voice clipped and precise as she tapped a marker against the whiteboard. "Pale blue... soft... inviting..."

"It reads as trustworthy, calm, and medicinal... That is what people want from a stall."

"Bullshit." Kaela grabbed the nearest bucket of crimson paint and shook it violently for emphasis, the liquid sloshing ominously inside. "People don’t come to a festival to feel ’calm.’"

"They come for spectacle! Red... We need red."

"People need to see us from a hundred paces..."

"We want them to see that flash of color and know exactly which direction to walk..."

"We need to dominate their field of vision..."

Lia rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "We are selling herbal tea, Kaela."

"We are not declaring a war on the neighboring provinces."

"Herbal tea with the spirit of war!" Kaela shot back, slamming the bucket down on the table with a thud that made the nearby shelves rattle. "Imagine it: ’Astraea’s Battle Ready Brew.’"

"It sells itself!"

’Gods preserve us,’ William thought, leaning against the doorframe.

He watched the two of them with detached fascination. He had seen soldiers argue over tactical formations with less ferocity than these two were currently displaying over paint pigments.

He had no intention of intervening; watching this train wreck was far more entertaining than any training drill.

Beside him, Ellie leaned against the frame, cradling a stack of neatly folded cloths in her arms. She had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning, her eyes fixed on the floor, her presence gentle and unobtrusive like a ghost haunting the periphery of the chaos.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost hesitant, cutting through the escalating volume of the argument.

"Perhaps..." Ellie began, pausing to gauge their reactions. "Perhaps we could include a small first aid corner?"

"Just a small table with bandages and antiseptic? For visitors who might get dizzy or overwhelmed in the crowds."

The effect was instantaneous.

The shouting stopped.

The aggressive posturing ceased.

Lia and Kaela froze mid argument, their hands still raised in accusatory gestures. They both turned their heads toward Ellie at the exact same moment, nodding in perfect, unsettling unison.

Then, realizing how abruptly they had stopped, they turned to stare at each other with expressions of profound embarrassment, as if they had been caught in the middle of some shameful, undignified act.

The silence in the room became heavy, broken only by the distant sounds of the academy outside.

"Don’t get carried away now," Kaela muttered, breaking the spell as she busied herself rearranging the paint buckets, though her cheeks bore the faint pink of flustered pride.

"I’m not," Lia added quickly, straightening her whiteboard with unnecessary force. "It is simply a... logical suggestion... practical... safety-conscious..."

"We should acknowledge it."

William caught Ellie’s eye for a split second. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips; a ghost of a reaction before she returned to her quiet vigil.

He realized then that even in the midst of this ridiculous squabble over blue versus red, Ellie was still looking for ways to protect people.

Even here.