Elion felt her fingers trace along the edge of his jaw, far too tender for someone who had just sent him flying.
If anyone were watching closely, they’d think she was the one who had been punched.
Isolde bit her lower lip.
He could practically feel the waves of embarrassment radiating off her.
"...I shouldn’t have reacted like that," she murmured.
"You punched me across the field," he said.
She flinched. "I know..."
"And I deserved it."
Her head shot up, surprised.
He smiled, slow and lopsided. "I was being stupid. And rude."
She opened her mouth, closed it, then quietly nodded. "Maybe... a little."
Her thumb brushed over his jaw again before she caught herself, yanking her hand away as if she’d been burned.
"A-anyway!" she squeaked. "I think we should, uh—continue practicing mana control!"
Elion raised an eyebrow. "You sure you’re not going to break my face again?"
Her ears turned even redder. "Th-that was an accident!"
He chuckled, pushing himself to his feet. "An accident with the weight of a boulder."
She bristled, sputtering. "W-well, maybe your face is too punchable!"
"That makes no sense."
"Neither do you!"
They stared at each other for a beat.
Then, unexpectedly, Isolde laughed. Soft, breathy, genuine.
The sound startled him. He’d never heard her laugh like that before.
Her eyes curved into crescents, the tension draining from her shoulders.
"I’ll show you again," she said, voice gentler. "From the beginning. This time... please try to watch the spell. Not me."
"No promises," Elion said before he could stop himself.
She froze.
Then turned crimson from ear to ear.
"Elion!"
He lifted both hands defensively. "Sorry—sorry. Force of habit."
"You have terrible habits," she muttered, but she was smiling again, just barely.
She stepped in close, closer than before, guiding his hand with her own as she shaped water mana in her palm.
Her fingers were soft, cool against his skin.
"Feel the flow," she whispered. "Not with your eyes. With your mana sense."
He swallowed. "You’re making it hard to focus."
She faltered. "W-why?"
Because you’re standing close enough that I can smell the lavender perfume you put on this morning.
Because your hand is literally in mine.
Because, gods damn it, you’re cute when you’re flustered.
But he just said, "Because you’re really good at this."
Her breath hitched.
Then she exhaled slowly, steadying herself.
"...Then pay attention," she whispered.
Their mana intertwined, just for a moment.
A pulse of clarity surged through him.
His control shifted, sharpened.
His water mana gathered with a smoothness he hadn’t achieved before, stabilizing without the usual flicker or sputter.
Isolde blinked at the formation in his palm, eyes widening.
"That’s... that’s really good," she said softly. "Better than earlier. Much better."
Elion smirked. "Must be the instructor."
She nudged him lightly with her shoulder. "Don’t get cocky."
"I’m not. I’m just appreciating the view."
Isolde choked on her own breath.
"Elion!"
He laughed.
Isolde cleared her throat softly. "Now, try gathering the mana a bit slower this time. Like... like guiding a stream instead of forcing a river."
Elion nodded, closing his eyes, letting her words settle.
She watched him.
Really watched him.
The calm on his face wasn’t something she was used to.
Not on him.
Not on the Elion who used to look like a walking corpse, shoulders tight, eyes dull with dread.
But now...
He looked different.
Relaxed.
Focused.
Alive.
He really has changed... she thought, feeling a flutter in her chest, she quickly ignored.
Elion opened one eye. "You’re staring."
She jolted. "Ah—no! I mean— I wasn’t— I was just—"
He smiled, soft and teasing. "It’s fine. I don’t mind."
Isolde’s ears turned red again. "You—! Why are you always like this suddenly?"
"Like what?"
"So... so... bold!"
Elion considered that, then shrugged. "I guess I’m just being honest."
She blinked, caught off guard. "...Honest?"
He turned toward her fully, meeting her eyes with a calm steadiness that made her heart skip.
"You’re beautiful, you’re ridiculously talented, and you punch like a war bear. I’m just adapting."
Her breath caught.
That was—too much.
Too direct.
Too... him?
But not the him she used to know.
This one? This Elion?
Free.
Unshackled.
Unburdened.
It was dizzying.
"Don’t look at me like that," she muttered, glancing away again.
"Like what?"
"Like you’re... seeing through me."
He chuckled. "I can barely see straight after that punch."
She puffed her cheeks. "...Then stop smiling."
"I can’t. You’re making it hard."
"Why?"
"Because seeing you flustered is adorable."
She nearly short-circuited.
"Elion!"
He laughed, not mocking, not cruel, just light.
Bright.
The kind that felt like warmth sliding under her skin.
Isolde found herself smiling too.
A small, helpless smile.
He’s... really different.Confident... calm...
Is this what he’s like when William isn’t dragging him down?
The thought tightened her chest.
She had always felt bad, quietly, secretly, watching him get pushed around, beaten down, humiliated.
He had always looked so withdrawn, so defeated, like a candle flickering on the last bit of wax.
But recently...?
Today, he felt like he was shining.
She found her voice again. "You should focus on the spell."
"Are you sure?" he mused. "Because you seem more distracted than me."
"I-I am not distracted!"
He leaned in slightly, eyebrow raised. "Then why is your mana formation wobbling?"
She looked at her conjured sphere of water, trembling wildly like a nervous hamster.
Her face combusted.
"Y-you—you—! Stop talking!"
"Okay, okay," Elion said, hands raised in surrender. "Teacher’s orders."
"Good," she huffed, regaining her composure. "Because we need to—"
She glanced up.
He was still looking at her.
Not at her chest.
Not at her mana.
At her eyes.
Steady. Warm. Present.
Her heart fluttered traitorously.