( Emily & Alice POV)

The thunder of voices had softened now, settling into a restless murmur. The clerk rolled up one parchment, readying the next. A pause hung in the Grand Hall like a held breath.

Emily Lionheart hadn't moved from her place on the dais. Her presence was composed, her hand resting lightly at her side as though she stood in no great hall but in her own home.

Alice Nightveil, however, leaned in slightly toward her. No one else would have noticed is their friendship had always been more silence than noise but Michael, watching from his seat, caught the subtle shift.

Their voices were low, but in the relative lull, Michael's ears caught fragments.

"Emily," Alice said, her tone quiet, measured. "You didn't flinch when Magnus's name was called. Not even a twitch."

Emily's lips curved faintly. "Why would I? This isn't the first time someone's tried to Stand in my way ."

Alice studied her, eyes cool as polished obsidian. "You say that as if you don't care."

"I care," Emily replied, and for a moment her eyes gleamed with the steel of her family name. "But caring doesn't mean I don't take Seriously. Magnus is a strong opponent with full of noise. If I chase him there, I'm already playing his game."

Alice's gaze didn't waver. "Noise spreads faster than silence."

"That's why you're here," Emily said, turning to her with a softness that surprised Michael. "To remind me when silence becomes dangerous."

For a heartbeat, Alice looked almost taken aback. Then she shook her head, a rare, dry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You still put too much faith in people's hearts. As though they'll always see truth when presented with it."

Emily's reply was almost poetic, her voice low but carrying a resonance that stilled even Alice for a moment:

"Faith is not blindness, Alice. It's the will to believe even when doubt is easier. If I cannot stand on that, then I have no right to lead them."

Alice exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing the hem of her sleeve. "And when faith fails? When they turn to the louder voice?"

Emily's eyes softened, but her words were firm. "Then I will stand alone, and rebuild from the ashes. That is what it means to be Lionheart."

For a moment, the two women simply looked at each other like light and shadow, conviction and calculation.

Then Alice broke the silence, her tone almost wistful. "Sometimes I envy you, Emily. You wear hope like armor. I… was forged to wield the knife instead."

Emily reached, her hand brushing Alice's arm with quiet warmth. "Then stay my knife, Alice. Not for vengeance. Not for fear. But for the future we want to build."

Alice blinked once, then let out the barest laugh, quiet as a sigh. "You're impossible."

"And yet," Emily teased lightly, "you're still here."

Alice's gaze softened barely, but enough that Michael noticed. Enough that he realized Emily wasn't the only one carrying weight in this election.

The clerk's voice rang out again, shattering the intimacy of the moment.

"Next—Executive Members of the Disciplinary Committee."

The Grand Hall stilled. Whispers crackled like sparks leaping across kindling.

Everyone knew the President's post was the crown, the jewel of the Student Council. But the Disciplinary Committee… that was the blade. It had teeth, authority, and the power to cut down anyone who overstepped.

Michael leaned forward slightly in his seat, his jaw tightening. His fingers curled inside his pocket, brushing the cool metal of his keycard as if it might anchor him.

The clerk unrolled another parchment. His voice echoed:

"For the position of Executive Disciplinary Officer, nominated by Alchemy Club, Treasure Hunting Club, Exploration Club, and Scholar Club—Flick Braveheart."

A roar of approval burst from one side of the chamber. Flick stood—tall, broad-shouldered, his smile sharp as if the entire hall already belonged to him. He gave a casual wave, basking in the noise.

Michael watched silently, lips pressed into a thin line.

The clerk continued.

"For the same position, nominated by Mage Club, Noble Club, Cooking Club, History Club, and Archery Club—Alice Nightveil."

The applause here was different. Less explosive, more respectful—tinged with unease. Alice did not stand. She merely inclined her head, her black hair falling forward like a curtain. Her gaze remained unreadable, but Michael noticed how Emily's eyes warmed with pride at her side.

Then, silence.

The clerk's next words carried the weight of stone dropping into a still pond.

"Nominated by Hunting Club and Royal Club—Michael Wilson."

For a breath, there was no sound at all. Then—whispers erupted.

"Michael Wilson? The commoner?"

"The one who placed first in the VR Dungeon?"

"Only two clubs? Against Braveheart and Nightveil?

"Doesn't he know he's outmatched?"

Michael felt every murmur as if they were arrows pricking his skin. His chest tightened but he didn't move. He kept his eyes forward, shoulders squared, back straight.

Chris, seated not far behind, muttered low enough only for him to hear. "They don't get it yet. You'll show them."

Michael didn't reply. He didn't trust his voice.

Instead, his gaze flicked sideways. Emily remained serene, her expression unreadable. Alice's eyes sharpened just slightly, assessing. And Flick Braveheart—he was grinning, like a predator who had just been told a new challenger had stepped into his hunting grounds.

The clerk cleared his throat. "The three candidates will be reviewed by the election board. Final voting shall take place at week's end."

The hall buzzed again, but Michael tuned it out.

Inside, his thoughts were already racing.

Two clubs. Against their armies. It doesn't matter. I don't need to win their approval—I just need to carve my place.

---

The Overseer stirred.

Sophia Emberheart—Vice Principal, draped in her crimson mantle, eyes glowing faintly with firelight as she raised her hand. Silence fell instantly.

Her gaze swept the hall, lingering briefly on each candidate. Flick. Alice. Michael.

When her eyes met his, Michael felt heat burn through his chest felt like being pinned by a dragon's stare.

"Three names," she said slowly, her voice calm but commanding. "Three paths. By week's end, the Academy will decide who shall wield the Council's authority over law and order. Until then observe. Debate. Weigh them carefully."

" Also Tomorrow will the speech day for representative so be prepared "

She lowered her hand. The hall erupted again, but Michael's pulse still hammered with the weight of her stare.

-----

The evening after nominations had been announced, the Supreme Hall was quieter than usual. Most students had gone back to their dorms, buzzing with speculation about the campaigns, trading rumors, or placing bets on who would rise and who would be crushed under the weight of the student union's politics.

Michael, however, sat alone at his desk, staring at a half-empty parchment. His quill hovered but never touched the page. The more he thought of speeches, the more his chest tightened.

"Protection. Fairness. Justice."

The words sounded right in his head but wrong on paper. Too stiff. Too hollow. They didn't sound like him—they sounded like lines stolen from some heroic play. And Michael knew, if he went out there sounding like that, he'd lose before he began.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn it. Why is this harder than breaking dungeon bosses?"

That's when the knock came. Not a tentative knock either—a loud bam-bam-bam that nearly made him spill his inkpot.

"Michael Wilson!" Leon's voice carried through the door. "Open up, or I'm breaking it down!"

Michael blinked. "…Why?"

"You need us, that's why!"

Before he could even stand, the door swung open, Leon barging in with his usual grin. Behind him followed Aurelia with a teasing smile, Chris with a serious air, and Aiden lugging a bag of… was that chips?

Maria walked in last, quiet and composed, though her eyes carried something softer than usual.

Michael blinked at the sudden invasion. "…What is this?"

"An intervention," Aurelia said sweetly. "Because you're terrible at asking for help."

"We're here to make sure you don't embarrass yourself in front of the entire academy," Chris added dryly.

"Oi, oi," Michael said, half-defensive. "I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were," Leon cut him off, plopping himself down on the sofa. "We all saw you sitting there looking like the weight of ten kingdoms was on your shoulders. Don't pretend you had it under control."

"Besides," Aiden added, tossing the bag onto the table, "campaigns are war. And nobody goes into war alone."

Michael looked between them, half-bewildered, half-touched. He wasn't sure when he'd gone from being the quiet outlier in Class A to… this. People barging into his room, declaring themselves allies without hesitation.

Maria stepped closer. "We decided to help you write your speech," she said simply, as though it were obvious.

"…You all just decided this?"

"Yes," Aurelia said, matter-of-fact. "You're welcome."

Michael's lips twitched. He wanted to argue, but the warmth in his chest made it impossible.

"…Fine. But if you're staying, I'm cooking."

That made them all blink.

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