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  Chapter 150: The Allure of Her Unrestrained Joy

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  The other students in the css had long grown accustomed to Dematero's peculiar behavior.

  This aspiring author had always worn his double standards as brazenly as a badge of honor- treating most cssmates with a cool detachment, his demeanor steeped in a haughty air of superiority. Yet, the moment he approached Xanthia, that facade cracked. Though he maintained an outward elegance, the undercurrent of servility in his tone was as pin as day to anyone observing.

  By now, however, no one dared mock him to his face or call him a sycophant outright. After all, the css had witnessed the fate of others who crossed him- infamous victims of his sharp tongue, now beled with monikers like “Pee King,” “Poop King,” or “Fart King.” No one wanted to tempt fate and risk becoming the next cautionary tale.

  Besides, many male cssmates could somewhat understand his attitude towards Xanthia.

  Dematero’s reputation had been in freefall not too long ago. Scorned and humiliated after Yannis publicly denounced him, and further embarrassed when Elena leaked his online confession, he had become the css clown. What followed was a series of bizarre, cringe-inducing actions- desperate, almost manic- that made even bystanders secondhand embarrassed for him.

  Putting themselves in his shoes, it wasn’t hard to imagine the suffocating despair he must have felt. With no standing left among his peers, his youth had seemingly plunged into darkness. Yet, even in this bleak abyss, Xanthia had chosen to believe in him. She praised his literary talent and saw potential where others saw ridicule.

  To Dematero, she was a light in the darkness, dispersing the shadows that had engulfed his heart. Xanthia had become his lifeline, his “saving grace.”

  Many cssmates, reflecting on this, thought they might feel the same in his position. Gratitude towards Xanthia would have come naturally, a debt of kindness that begged to be repaid.

  This was the version of events most cssmates saw on the surface. What they didn’t realize was that Dematero’s journey had been far more intricate, a pawn to someone's hands and his transformation much more profound than anyone could fathom.

  Thus, when Dematero employed what they saw as an obvious attempt at currying favor, no one found it particurly surprising. If anything, their inner commentary bubbled up like so:

  “Asking Xanthia for her opinion? Who are you kidding? It’s obvious you’re just picking whoever you want!”“Remember when Dionysius acted all out of character around Xanthia? He even appuded her hallway singing. Ooh, I smell gossip!”“Dionysius? That ice prince? He must’ve only done that as a favor to Dematero. No way he’d break his ‘no girls allowed’ policy otherwise.”“Dematero and his stories, though. He lies like he’s breathing- effortlessly ridiculous!”“If Xanthia actually believes his nonsense, she’s doomed. Imagine bringing a crowd of girls to the party only for Dionysius to reject them outright. What a social disaster that’d be!”

  Some cssmates thought Dematero’s suggestion was merely a polite excuse to decline people’s pestering. Realizing this, they muttered a few silent curses and left him alone, not wanting to provoke his notorious sharp tongue.

  They had learned their lesson: Dematero’s disdain for certain cssmates ran bone-deep. He viewed them with an indifference so palpable it felt personal, as if they owed him debts long time ago. His generosity and warmth, it seemed, were reserved only for those he truly valued.

  When Xanthia heard his suggestion, she grinned brightly. “Sounds like fun! Of course, I want to join the party. But are you sure I can bring anyone I like?”

  Her teasing tone was impossible to miss.

  Dematero, of course, couldn’t help rolling his eyes internally. Py coy all you want!

  Given her rapport with Dionysius, she could probably bring the entire css, and he’d still welcome them with open arms. He might even delight in the spectacle- it would show how beloved “his sister” was among the girls of Css Three.

  “Bring whoever you like,” Dematero replied, fshing a refined yet polite smile. “Dionysius always keeps his word. Just trust me.”

  Xanthia nodded with an air of complete trust, her expression earnest.

  At this point, Elena, unable to hold back, finally spoke up. This time, however, she chose her words carefully. She wasn’t about to openly challenge Dematero, lest he unleash one of his infamous verbal takedowns, leaving her humiliated yet again.

  “Xanthia, don’t be so na?ve,” she said cautiously. “You going is one thing, but bringing others without Dionysius’s approval- that’s just rude.”

  It was clear she believed Dematero was bluffing to impress Xanthia.

  To her exasperation, Xanthia dismissed her concerns entirely. “Oh, come on, Yaya-jie, you’re overthinking this. The more, the merrier! Showing up in numbers just means we’re giving Dionysius extra face. Stop worrying and just enjoy yourself- eat his food, drink his drinks, and party on his dime. Share the wealth!”

  Her breezy logic left Elena dumbfounded.

  “Li'l Xanthia,” she muttered, “this ‘sharing the wealth’ of yours sounds like… a bandit’s philosophy! Aren’t you worried Dionysius might think you’re overstepping? What if it backfires and he ends up disliking you?”

  This line of reasoning was typical for Elena, who cared deeply about appearances. She meticulously curated her image, particurly in front of influential figures like Dionysius. Lesser individuals, however, rarely earned such consideration.

  Once upon a time, Dematero had been one of those “lesser” individuals- colteral damage in Elena’s pursuit of perfection.

  Xanthia, however, waved off her concerns without a second thought. “I’ve got thick skin- I’m a social butterfly, remember? If he dislikes me for having fun, that’s on him. As long as I enjoy myself, I’m winning. Why worry about tomorrow when today’s joy is right here?”

  Elena was speechless.

  For all her outward fragility, Xanthia possessed a courage and carefree spirit that far surpassed Elena’s. She neither sought approval nor feared rejection. For Xanthia, the world is simple. She lived for herself, unburdened by the weight of others’ opinions- a true free spirit.

  That kind of unrestrained joy was… intoxicating.

  Dematero, too, felt a surge of admiration as Xanthia effortlessly pced her trust in him and expressed her unshakable confidence. He couldn’t help but echo her sentiments.

  “You’ve got it exactly right,” he said warmly. “Life’s short- live for yourself and savor the moment.”

  Gentle Dematero harbored no fear of Xanthia living for herself; rather, his worry y in the possibility of this innately kind-hearted girl devoting herself too selflessly to others. She had a tendency, after all, to gift her happiness away and clutch her sorrow tightly to her chest.

  Judging by Xanthia’s current state of mind, however, Dematero was immensely satisfied. Surely, the artwork she would produce in the future- doodles casually sketched or grand pieces composed with care- would brim with sunshine and positivity, their energy palpable.

  This assurance brought Dematero a rare peace of mind. His “rebirth” felt profoundly worthwhile. He had succeeded in lifting Xanthia from the mire of her mencholy, setting her firmly on a path towards bance and joy.

  Everything was splendid. Stable, even. Ah, what perfection indeed!Is this how main characters felt?! he thought, his heart swelling with a strange pride.

  Just then, Xanthia turned, her radiant smile stealing the very breath from Dematero’s chest. Her teeth, pristine and pearly white, sparkled in the sunlight, and two delicate dimples adorned her cheeks like twin blessings. The sheer infectiousness of her joy could mend even the most battered of souls.

  Yet, this same joy also brought Dematero an unbidden pang of sorrow. He couldn’t help but reproach himself, thinking, If only I’d made her smile like this in our “previous life.” Her smile… it’s utterly enchanting.

  As Dematero left, Xanthia gathered her group of lively girls and proposed cheerfully, “Is everyone free tomorrow? Let’s crash a meal somewhere! There’s bound to be loads of fun, and maybe even some treasures to uncover!”

  She wasn’t the sentimental sort who’d wax mencholic over old haunts; she was visiting the mansion purely for indulgence. After all, Xanthia saw herself as a “country bumpkin” out to broaden her horizons and seize some enjoyment.

  Lhoraine was the first to respond, her voice brimming with glee. “Absolutely! Thanks to you, Xanthia, I’ll finally get to bask in your glow again. I’m free, and I can’t wait to gather some juicy gossip about Dionysius. Just the thought is thrilling!”

  Luciel chimed in next, her tone teasing yet warm. “Alright, count me in. But next time, you’re crashing at my pce, deal?”

  The truth was, Luciel felt a surge of superiority earlier when Elena voiced her doubts. After all, among the girls present, Luciel alone knew Xanthia’s true identity.

  Ha! They’d all be stunned if they found out. Xanthia isn’t just anyone- she’s the eldest daughter of the Papadopoulos familia! she thought smugly.

  That Dionysius, was merely her younger brother. Attending his birthday party with an entourage of girls was Xanthia’s act of generosity, a gesture to grace him with her presence. Elena’s concern that Dionysius might think Xanthia thick-skinned was ughable at best. Luciel nearly burst out ughing but restrained herself to keep her smugness in check.

  Elena, however, was indignant. “Luciel, why are you going along with Xanthia’s antics? Didn’t you always warn her against incurring favors or accepting men’s overtures? Dionysius’s invitation is anything but innocent! Have you lost your sense of justice?”

  Luciel inwardly chuckled. Oh, Elena La Loannou, if only you knew the truth. Dionysius owes Xanthia everything, not the other way around.

  Though she held strong principles and a righteous heart, Luciel wasn’t some sanctimonious fool. She supported Xanthia in reciming her rightful pce and dues. Taking a little “interest” from Dionysius and his familia was nothing short of poetic justice.

  What infuriated Luciel most was how Xanthia had been forced to live modestly, despite her te mother’s substantial legacy. El La Fielso had been a star in her heyday, her songs legendary, her estate significant. Even now, royalties from her music far exceeded the average household’s annual income.

  Yet here was Xanthia, dressed pinly and living humbly, so much so that her cssmates believed she came from a struggling background. The mere idea of her being the Papadopoulos familia’s eldest daughter was more far-fetched to them than her being a descendant of a royal family.

  Luciel clenched her fists. Xanthia deserves better. She deserves everything they’ve stolen from her!

  “Xanthia’s got the right idea,” Luciel said aloud. “Why give Dionysius so much importance? Let’s enjoy ourselves and keep an eye on Xanthia while we’re at it. How’s that for a reason?”

  Elena was speechless, her shock mounting as the girls treated the event as a casual outing.

  “You should come too, Sister,” Xanthia chimed in, her tone cheerful. “You’ll enjoy the party, I’m sure. It’ll be fun!”

  After a moment of internal struggle, Elena relented and sighed. “Fine. But only because I’m coming to protect you!”

  Xanthia beamed. With every additional companion, her excitement soared. Soon, she recruited even more friends: her former deskmate Xenia La Sagrada, a snacking companion; Noemi, her newfound tennis partner; and eventually even noisy dormmates like Marian and Chica, who tagged along uninvited.

  By Sunday noon, eight girls, spirited and vibrant, set off together to “raid” Dionysius’s birthday party. Their boldness left their cssmates in Css Three utterly stunned.

  “Did Xanthia really bring this many girls to the party of the Dionysius?!” someone gasped.

  The audacity, the sheer brazenness, made it feel as though Xanthia wasn’t visiting but returning to her rightful home.