Trafalgar unlocked the door and stepped aside, one hand gesturing inward with an easy, practiced motion.

"Ladies first."

Aubrelle paused for half a heartbeat, then smiled. "What a gentleman," she said, the tease light rather than sharp, before moving past him into the room.

He followed her in and closed the door behind them, the soft click sealing off the corridor and whatever eyes might have lingered there. The room felt still, insulated from the academy's constant motion. Trafalgar slipped off his shoes and crossed to the side, grabbing a towel from a nearby shelf. He knelt briefly, wiping away the grime Alfons had left behind, his movements quiet and methodical, like someone erasing a nuisance rather than dwelling on it. When he was done, he tossed the towel into the bin and straightened.

"Do you want something to drink while we talk?" he asked, turning back to her. "Tea, coffee, water… I can do that. Food—no. I haven't been here in a while."

Aubrelle had already taken a seat by the table, her cane resting within reach. "Tea is fine," she replied. "That's more than enough."

Trafalgar nodded and busied himself with the kettle, the familiar routine easing some of the tension that still clung to the air. He set a cup in front of her once it was ready, then took the seat across from her, wrapping his hands around his own.

Aubrelle looked around, taking in the space properly now. The room was spacious, polished, shaped by wealth and status without being suffocating. "Your room is… unique," she said. "Luxurious, too. I suppose that's to be expected on the heirs' floor."

He huffed softly. "I imagine someone from House Rosenthal doesn't exactly live in a storage closet either. Especially Selara's assistant." There was no bite in his words, only an even acknowledgment.

She tilted her head, amused. "Fair enough. Mine isn't bad. I'm one floor below you, actually. I just never had a reason to come up here before."

"Well," Trafalgar said, taking a sip of his tea, "you do now."

The words weren't heavy, but they settled between them all the same. Aubrelle understood what he meant, and her shoulders eased as she did. The room felt warmer after that—not because of the tea, but because the distance between them had shrunk, replaced by a quiet sense of comfort, like sitting by a steady fire after a long walk in the cold.

Trafalgar finished pouring the tea and set the cup down carefully in front of her, as if the act itself required attention. He then took his seat across from Aubrelle.

Pipin fluttered down and perched on the edge of the table, tilting his head toward Trafalgar. His small body shifted until he was positioned just right, eyes fixed on him so Aubrelle could follow his expression through the familiar link. The bird went still after that, unusually quiet, as if he sensed the change in the room.

Trafalgar took a slow breath.

"It's time to talk about what actually matters," he said.

The words were calm, expected. Not an announcement, but a confirmation of something they had both been carrying since the train.

Aubrelle nodded once. "I thought as much," she replied. Her voice was steady, though there was a careful tension beneath it, like someone standing at the edge of deep water.

"What happened on the train," Trafalgar continued, meeting her gaze, "was real. I won't pretend otherwise." He paused, not to hesitate, but to anchor himself. "You matter to me."

The statement settled between them without force, simple and undeniable.

"But this isn't something simple," he went on. "It's not a story that exists in isolation." His fingers tightened slightly around the cup. "There's my family. Their expectations. The political weight attached to my name. To yours."

For a moment, Aubrelle's expression shifted. She looked away, Pipin's gaze following her movement. "Then maybe," she said quietly, "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No," Trafalgar answered at once. The word came out firmer than intended, and he exhaled right after. "That's not what I mean."

He leaned forward just a little. "I'm glad you did. I truly am. The problem isn't you." His gaze flicked briefly toward the window, toward the world beyond the room. "It's everything around us."

Aubrelle listened in silence, and when she looked back at him, there was no hurt in her eyes. Only understanding.

"My father would probably like it," he said at last. "From his perspective." He didn't smile. "Your talent is unique. If we were to marry, the children would be strong. For that reason alone, Valttair would surely push for it to happen once he finds out."

Aubrelle frowned slightly. "From the mother's side?" she asked. "You don't really know that. It could turn out more like the father."

He hesitated.

It wasn't doubt about her. It was about how much he should reveal. But he had already crossed a line the moment he brought her here. And Aubrelle had never given him a reason to distrust her.

"Aubrelle," he said quietly, "I have an SSS Talent."

Her reaction was immediate and unguarded. Her mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, as if her thoughts refused to arrange themselves into words. For a few seconds, she simply stared in his direction, frozen.

He rubbed at his eyes, exhaling. "That's why it isn't simple." His voice lowered. "Please keep this a secret. Very few people know. I'm telling you because I trust you." He paused, then added honestly, "And because I want you to understand that I do want to be with you."

"But being with me," he continued, "means danger. A lot of it. My family. My position. Everything around me puts the people close to me at risk."

Aubrelle stopped him right there.

"Trafalgar," she said firmly, "you don't need to keep going." Her hands tightened briefly in her lap. "I know it's dangerous. Our families are dangerous. This world is dangerous." Her voice softened, but it didn't weaken. "I just came back from a battle. I had to kill. I hate it. I'll carry that weight with me forever."

She swallowed once.

"I've never liked anyone before," she admitted. "Not like this. But sharing that weight… it helps." She lifted her head slightly. "I want it to be you. Ever since we met at the Council a year ago."

Then, without hesitation, she added, "If we have to marry, then so be it."

A brief silence followed her words.

Trafalgar inhaled slowly, then asked the question that had been waiting between them the entire time.

"And Mayla?" he said.

Aubrelle's reaction was immediate. She brought both hands to her mouth, the movement sharp and instinctive, as if the realization had struck her all at once. "I—" She lowered them just as quickly. "I'm sorry." The apology came out without hesitation. "I didn't think about her in that moment. That was selfish of me."

She looked down, shoulders drawing in slightly. "She was there first," Aubrelle continued. "And I know the world isn't fair. If this ends in marriage, feelings don't always get a say." She shook her head once. "But I should have thought of her."

Trafalgar watched her closely. "Then tell me," he said. "What did you and Mayla talk about?"

Aubrelle hesitated, scratching the back of her head lightly before answering. "I told her the truth," she admitted. "About you. About how I feel." Her voice steadied as she went on. "I wanted to respect your relationship. If she had told me no, I wouldn't have done anything. I was prepared to keep quiet and swallow it."

She looked back up. "But she didn't."

That caught him.

"She supported me," Aubrelle said. "She encouraged me to tell you. It surprised me." A faint smile appeared. "It was… comforting."

Trafalgar leaned back slightly, letting out a quiet breath.

'How are they both like this?' he thought. 'How did I end up with people like them? They are too good for this cruel world.'

"She's been with me my entire life," he said aloud. "Through everything. I'd give my life for her without hesitation."

Aubrelle nodded, accepting that without argument.

Then she asked, directly, "So… are we a couple? Officially?"

There was no tension in her voice. No demand. Just clarity.

"Yes," Trafalgar replied, nodding once. "We are."

Her face lit up before she could stop it, happiness breaking through naturally. "Then I'm Trafalgar du Morgain's girlfriend," she said, almost testing the words. "Even if I'm the second."

He smiled at that, small but genuine.

Trafalgar shifted slightly, the warmth easing but not disappearing. "We should inform the directors that we've returned," he said first, practical as always. Then he paused. "And… if you can tell me—what are your family's plans right now? About the war."

Aubrelle hesitated.

It wasn't reluctance. It was caution. This wasn't information she shared lightly. But then she remembered what he had just entrusted to her. An SSS Talent. A secret that could change everything.

She exhaled slowly. "I'll tell you," she said. "Because you trusted me."

Her voice steadied as she went on. "After that defeat, the war will escalate. Not in one massive clash, but step by step." She folded her hands together. "Smaller battles. Cities. Outposts. Territory taken and lost again. It'll become a war of exhaustion."

"My parents pulled me back because I'm considered the future of the house," Aubrelle continued. "They didn't want to risk me anymore. That's why I was sent back to the academy."

Trafalgar listened carefully, not interrupting once.

"In the long run," she said, "we have the advantage. Six houses united will always outlast one. If the war drags on, we'll win."

"But that's exactly why the Thal'zar won't let it drag on," she added quietly. "They'll attack soon. Hard. They'll force a turning point."

She looked down for a moment. "I'll be far from the front when that happens."

Trafalgar nodded slowly. "Thanks for telling me, now, I'll speak with my father," he said. There was no frustration in his tone. Just acceptance. "About us."

"And I'll speak with mine," Aubrelle replied without hesitation.

They both knew what that meant.

Two conversations first. Then a meeting. Their parents sitting across from one another, weighing the situation not in feelings, but in bloodlines, alliances, and future strength. If things followed the usual path, a formal commitment would not be far behind.

They shared a brief look after that. A quiet understanding of the road ahead.

There was already a we.

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