Chapter 15: I Won the Evaluation, and Rin Won Everything Else

The door led upward.

Stone steps climbed into the darkness. A cool wind drifted down from above. The silver chain on Rin’s headband jingled with each step she took. I tried not to look at her skirt. I failed. I tried again.

“Alfred-kun.”

“Yeah.”

“You are staring.”

“I am not.”

“Your neck is red.”

“That is the lamps.”

“The lamps are blue, Alfred-kun.”

I walked faster.

The stairs ended at a seam in the forest floor. It split open the moment Rin touched it. Green light poured down. Fresh air rushed in. We climbed out onto moss and old roots, and the Thornwood closed its mouth behind us as if nothing had happened.

Sakuya was waiting.

He sat on a fallen log with his short blade resting on his knees. There were leaves in his hair and his sleeve was torn. As soon as he saw me, his dark eyes met mine and his calm slipped for a moment before he managed a slow, careful smile that tried to hide his relief.

“Alfred-kun.”

“Sakuya.”

“You are alive.”

“I am alive.”

“Rin-chan is—”

He stopped.

He saw the dress. For a whole second, Sakuya-san just stared. His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes moved carefully from the headband to the apron to the tail slit and back again. For the first time since I met him, the calm, patient boy I roomed with seemed to have no idea what to say.

It was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

“Rin-chan.”

“Sakuya-san.”

“You look—”

“Yes.”

“Is that—”

“My grandfather made it. Do not ask.”

He closed his mouth.

He nodded once, very seriously, as if accepting something he couldn’t change. Then he stood up, brushed leaves off his tunic, and pointed up the ridge with his free hand.

“The checkpoint is closed.”

“How close?”

“Half a mile. Over the ridge. The red flag is in a clearing.”

“How do you know?”

“I climbed a tree.”

“You climbed a tree.”

“You were underground, Alfred-kun. I had time.”

Rin’s tail flicked once under the skirt.

She stayed quiet. She stepped between Sakuya-san and me as smoothly as a cat settling onto a warm pillow. Her shoulder brushed my arm. Her ears pointed forward, not flat, and her honey-colored eyes stayed fixed on Sakuya-san.

Sakuya noticed.

Sakuya smiled.

Rin smiled back with teeth.

“Alfred-kun.”

“Yeah.”

“Rin-chan is—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“—standing very close to you.”

“Sakuya, I swear.”

“I am only observing.”

“Observe more quietly.”

We climbed.

The ridge was steep and rough, covered in loose stones and tangled roots. I slipped twice on the wet moss, and both times Rin caught my elbow without even looking. Her hand found my arm as easily as someone finds a doorknob in the dark. When I slipped a third time, Sakuya-san offered to help, but Rin’s ears flattened so quickly I heard the fabric shift.

“I have got him.”

“Of course, Rin-chan.”

“He is mine to catch.”

“Of course, Rin-chan.”

“Good.”

I did not comment.

Commenting was how people died.

The red flag waited in a small clearing on the other side of the ridge. It hung from a tall pole, a square of red cloth with a small brass bell on a chain underneath. It looked dramatic—very Academy. I walked up and grabbed the cloth. As soon as I touched it, the bell rang out, clear and bright, and a soft light pulsed down the pole into the ground.

I pulled the flag free.

We walked back.

The Thornwood released us. Whatever it had been doing with its traps, proctors, and warrior maids, it was finished with us. The trees grew thinner, the canopy opened up, and golden sunlight touched the ridge. The training wall appeared ahead, and beyond it, the white stones of the Academy courtyard shone in the late morning light.

Garreth von Stahl was standing at the treeline.

His apron was still a bit singed, but his headband was straight and he had his sword back. He stood like a skilled swordsman, relaxed and steady. When he saw us, his eyes skipped over me and settled on Rin.

They stayed there.

“Is that—”

“Do not.”

“Takafumi-san.”

“Do not, Garreth-san.”

“Is that the Supreme—”

“Garreth-san, I am begging you.”

“The stitching. The silver chain.”

“If you finish that sentence, I will tell the Headmistress about the apron budget.”

He closed his mouth.

He bowed.

He bowed deeply, hands at his sides and chin almost touching his chest. It hit me, slowly and uncomfortably, that he wasn’t bowing to me—he was bowing to the dress.

Rin accepted the bow like she had been receiving them her whole life.

We crossed the training wall to cheers.

The cheers weren’t loud, just scattered. Students who had already come back sat on benches along the wall, looking tired and muddy, and clapped when they saw the flag in my hand. Maren-san was there. Toren-san was there. The soup girl was there too, soaked from the waist down and grinning like she’d just been made queen. The sleeping boy was still asleep on a bench.

Gale-sensei stood by the gate with a fresh cup of tea.

He looked at the flag.

He looked at me.

He looked at Rin.

His scarred eyebrow went up a full inch.

“Takafumi.”

“Sensei.”

“That is a Supreme Maid Dress.”

“Sensei, please.”

“That dress was lost to the kingdom sixty years ago, Takafumi.”

“It was underground, Sensei.”

“In the Thornwood.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Your grandfather.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“I am going to need a stronger tea.”

He took the flag.

He turned and shouted a name I did not catch, and a senior in a red sash came running with a small velvet box. The kind of box the Academy only opened on days when somebody had done something that had not been done before.

The medal was bronze with a silver edge. One side showed the Academy’s crest, the other a small oak leaf. Gale-sensei held it out on a short blue ribbon. The courtyard went quiet. Students on the benches stood up. Even the sleeping boy was awake now, blinking.

“First to return. Top marks. Come here, Takafumi.”

I came.

He pinned the ribbon to my collar with quick, careful hands. He stepped back and gave the smallest nod, then looked past me at Rin.

“You too, cat-shaped person.”

“Me?”

“Both of you retrieved the flag. Come.”

Rin came.

She stood up straight, her tail still and her ears forward. Gale-sensei pinned a second ribbon above her apron, over her heart. His hand shook once, and I realized he was being careful not to touch the stitching.

“Sakuya.”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Where is your medal pin?”

“I did not retrieve the flag, Sensei.”

“You held the forest path against a proctor with fire magic that a second-year could not cast. Come here.”

Sakuya came.

The third ribbon went on his collar. Sakuya-san gave a small, genuine smile—the kind he almost never showed. For a moment, he looked his real age, whatever that was.

Rin noticed.

Rin’s ears went down.

She stepped closer and took my hand, her fingers lacing through mine, firm and warm. She didn’t look at Sakuya-san, but she lifted her chin just a bit, the way girls do when they’re drawing a line.

Sakuya looked at our hands.

He smiled wider.

Rin’s grip tightened.

“Alfred-kun.”

“Sakuya, do not.”

“Your hand is very taken.”

“Sakuya.”

“By a warrior of grace and beauty.”

“I am going to walk back into the forest and stay there.”

“The forest has a dungeon, Alfred-kun.”

“I KNOW.”

The students cheered.

This time, the cheers were real and loud. Maren-san whooped, Toren-san whistled, and the soup girl shouted something I couldn’t understand. The courtyard filled with noise, and I stood in the middle of it with a medal on my chest, a cat girl on my arm, and a smiling boy at my side. For one small, warm moment, I felt like I’d won something more than just a flag.

Then Gale-sensei clapped his hands.

“Enough. Dining hall. Lunch. Move.”

Students moved.

Rin stayed where she was. She gently pulled me by the hand, leading me away from Sakuya-san and the cheering crowd, toward the far side of the training yard where the benches were empty and sunlight streamed through the archway onto clean stone. She stopped in the sunlight and turned to face me.

She touched the medal on my collar with one fingertip.

“Alfred.”

“Yeah.”

“You won.”

“We won.”

“No.”

“Rin.”

“You won. I helped. The dress helped.”

“The dress did a lot, Rin.”

“The dress is mine now.”

“Yes.”

“The medal is yours.”

“Okay.”

“The hand is mine.”

“…”

“Alfred.”

“Yeah, Rin.”

“The hand is mine.”

“Okay, Rin.”

Her ears flicked up once, satisfied.

She held onto my hand and walked beside me toward the dining hall, matching the same easy pace Sakuya-san had used all morning. She didn’t let go, and no one was foolish enough to ask her to.

Far to the north, on a hill in a city I tried not to think about, a girl in a white tower set her pen down in the middle of a sentence.

She touched her own chest.

She felt a quick, strange tug inside her, like a rope being pulled.

She frowned at the south road for a very long moment.

Then she picked up the pen again.