During classes, I saw Alexia and Lianel. They looked... battered. Bags under their eyes, movements stiff. The dummy had clearly executed its program at a hundred percent.

  But something else caught my attention. Alexia had let her hair down today. Usually, she kept it perfectly brushed, tied up in a strict bun or held back with some hairpin. But today, likely out of sheer exhaustion, she just wore it loose. Her hair wasn't golden. It was silver, like pure moonlight. A gleaming, cold, cascading stream.

  I looked at it, and it hit me like a tidal wave. It wasn't that ancient elf. No. This was closer. A cycle roughly five hundred years ago. I remembered a night. Tall grass on a hill, the chirping of cicadas, and a massive full moon above us. I was lying in the grass, my head resting on the lap of a girl with the exact same silver hair. I remembered combing through it, letting it slip through my fingers. It was cool, like water in a stream, and smelled of night-blooming flowers. In that world, in that moment, there were no wars or demons. There was only me, her, and that silver waterfall.

  Without realizing what I was doing, I reached out. I started touching Alexia's hair. I stroked it, carefully coiling a strand around my finger, feeling its silkiness. The sensation was incredibly strange. It was the phantom pain of happiness. I was back there, on that hill, five hundred years ago. I felt the exact peace I had been missing so desperately.

  Alexia, feeling my touch, froze at first. She slowly turned her head. Seeing my face—distant, dreamy, entirely stripped of its usual cynicism—she didn't pull away. She started to smile, and soft sparks appeared in her eyes.

  Suddenly, that magic was shattered by a hiss from the side: "Greg!" Alphus whispered, his eyes wide with horror. "How are you behaving with the Princess?! Do you have any manners at all?! That's... that's highly inappropriate!"

  I didn't even turn to look at him. I kept letting the silver strand slip through my fingers. "I don't know," I replied quietly, never breaking tactile contact. "I don't care."

  Alexia laughed softly at the sight of Alphus's face. "Alright, Greg, that's enough," she said gently, though a trace of regret lingered in her voice.

  She began gathering her hair, pulling that beautiful silver stream back into a strict ponytail. Hiding my "moon."

  I felt instantly sad. Like a toy had just been snatched away from me. Like they had slammed the window shut on that world on the hill. I let out a deep sigh and rested my head on the desk, right on my folded arms. I looked up at her with a sad, almost puppy-dog expression, my eyes following the very last strand. Alexia, catching that look, smiled again, but this time with a new kind of warmth, and blushed slightly.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The silence was shredded by a booming voice: "CADET GREG! HEADS UP!"

  It was Elandr. I blinked lazily, drifting back to reality. "Yeah, yeah... hold on..." I muttered, reluctantly peeling my head off the desk.

  Fencing class was canceled. Instead of the clash of blades, a mass run awaited us. This wasn't just an endurance test. It was a survival test. Anyone who failed to meet the standard could be expelled. This test decided a lot.

  I could see Alphus panicking. He was pale, shifting from foot to foot, his eyes darting around. "Start!" the Coach barked.

  And off we went. The princesses—Anna, Alexia, and Lianel—shot forward like lightning, instantly taking the lead. Merely passing wasn't enough for them; they were actively competing against each other. The rest of the class surged after them. I took off too, but not at full throttle. I hung back in the middle of the pack, just enough to keep Alphus in my line of sight.

  I kept an eye on him. The crowd quickly stretched out. The runners fractured into groups. But Alphus was alone. First, he overtook the slow stragglers—the ones who relied entirely on magic. Then he passed one group. Then another. He ran steadily, breathing hard but maintaining a solid rhythm. The training with the "shadow" and racing birds hadn't been in vain.

  I maintained a steady pace, slightly ahead of him. I saw him slowly starting to catch up. I immediately bumped my speed. No, buddy, I thought. I'm not giving you the hope of passing me. I am your horizon. I kept the distance strictly at five meters. Unreachable, but always right in front of his eyes.

  Suddenly, someone from behind tried to overtake Alphus. Some noble kid who decided "White Cloud" had burned out. But Alphus saw him. He didn't panic. He accelerated. They ran shoulder-to-shoulder for probably five hundred meters, battling for dominance. I could hear their ragged breathing. And then, Alphus's opponent broke. He slowed his pace and fell behind.

  I noticed how Alphus's expression changed. He smiled through the pain. This wasn't training against an unreachable me. This was a real victory over a real rival.

  The final stretch. The last two hundred meters. Alphus, riding the high of his success, exploded forward, squeezing out the very last drops of his stamina. I crossed the line without even breathing hard. Alphus flew in right behind me, nearly collapsing.

  Elandr checked his stopwatch. "Greg—6 minutes. Alphus—8 minutes."

  We stood there, watching the rest. It was a massacre. Probably only half the class managed to cross the line before the ten-minute mark. I watched the stragglers collapse onto the grass, gasping for air. It looked like about a quarter of the students would be leaving the S-class today. Many of them were already failing at fencing, potions, and history. This run was the final nail in the coffin of their elite education.

  But Alphus... He stood there, his hands resting on his knees, drenched in sweat and red in the face, but he was incredibly happy. His eyes practically screamed: I did it.

  Returning to my room, I flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling and having no idea what to do with myself. The adrenaline from the race had faded, and the boredom had returned.