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The first time it happened, Damian thought it was a one-off.
They had just returned to Eden after the winter break, the winter festival having been the weekend before. The last time he’d seen Anya, she had been standing in front of him, those stupid big green eyes filled with some weird, infuriating concern, trying to convince him that his mother loved him. Or some other nonsense. Honestly. Where did she come up with this stuff?
It was a crisp winter morning, the courtyard bathed in sharp sunlight. As students filtered toward their classrooms, Damian strode through the gates with Emile and Ewen in tow, their bellies full from breakfast. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. It was the start of a new term, his goal was clear, attain all of the stella stars and become an imperial scholar. If he had managed to get three last term, surely he could get the remaining five this one? If not eight or nine?
Then, immediately, his eyes caught that unmistakable pink.
“Beckyyyyyy! We’re back at school!” Anya’s voice rang out as she clutched Becky’s hands, and the two launched into some kind of girly dance-hug combination. Their coats flared with the movement as their giggles filled the air and Damian rolled his eyes. Did they always have to put on a show? Nobody needed to see how happy they were. It was excessive. Unruly commoner behaviour as per usual.
“Yeah! You seem awfully excited, Anya! You’re not sad to be back?” Becky asked, amused.
“No way! Starlight Anya’s mission is now clear—I’m going to study hard and earn all the Stellas!” Anya saluted, tapping two fingers against the brim of her uniform hat, her green eyes flashing with dramatic determination as she smiled.
Becky giggled.
Damian scrunched his nose, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered as his cheeks began to burn and his mind began to betray him.
She’s so cute.
—No, no, NO. Absolutely not. He shoved the thought back into the deepest recesses of his brain and scowled instead.
“Tch. Looks like they’re still letting the losers in,” he said loudly, arms crossing.
Emile snickered. “Nice one, Bossman!”
“Yeah, what are you goofs doing here?” Ewen added, grinning.
As expected, Becky would probably tell them to knock it off, and Anya would—
Wait.
Anya wasn’t reacting.
No scrunched-up face. No whiny rebuttal. No smug comeback.
Instead, her expression had frozen. Her face went pale, nearly grey, before she frowned and did she catch her shiver? In fear?
Then, without a word, she turned away.
Becky barely had time to open her mouth before Anya sped off.
“W-wait up, Anya!” Becky called after her.
And that was how it started.
From that day on, she avoided him.
Not in the usual way. No smug grins. No teasing. No ridiculous attempts to weasel her way into his house with some new stupid excuse.
No.
She didn’t look at him. She didn’t talk to him.
It only got weirder from there.
One afternoon, when classes had just let out, Damian and his friends were heading toward the dorms when Ewen suddenly nudged him, his eyebrows arched up making his already narrow face appear even more so.
“Uh… Bossman?”
“What?” Damian grumbled. It was crucial that he got to his dorm room and started studying. There was going to be a history exam in three weeks. Three weeks!
Ewen pointed toward a table in the courtyard, where a strange sight met their eyes.
Anya. Becky. Bill Watkins. George Glooman. That weird triangle-haired guy Damian couldn’t stand and that equally weird flippy-haired one.
Together.
With textbooks.
Studying.
For a second, Damian just blinked.
“What the heck are they doing?” Emile muttered.
“Are they… actually studying?” Ewen asked, incredulous.
Usually Anya spent her breaks chatting with Becky, or sleeping, or eating… never studying.
Damian narrowed his eyes as he watched Bill mutter something, pointing at a page, his large stature making him stand out among the others. Arnold scratched his pyramid-shaped head before nodding in agreement—was that kid’s hair even real? Meanwhile, Anya furiously scribbled notes, nodding along as she listened intently.
Was she actually listening?
It was bizarre.
And then, Damian caught snippets of their conversation.
“No, no, Anya, you skipped a step,” Bill said, tapping his pencil against her notebook. “You have to add these first.”
Anya frowned, staring hard at the equation before carefully erasing a number and rewriting it. “Like this?”
Bill leaned over, double-checking. “Yeah, now it makes sense.”
“Well done Anya!” Arnold praised her as he smiled wide.
“Yeah nice one Anya! You’ve really got the hang of this now you know!” George agreed as he nodded enthusiastically.
“Okay, next one.” Anya said, flipping the page without hesitation. She appeared…determined? Possibly even too caught up within her own concentration to even pause for praise.
Since when did she know how to concentrate?!
Nearby, Narcis was flipping through the French textbook, reading aloud. “Le ciel est… bleu.” He tapped the page and smirked at Becky. “You can say that, right?”
Becky raised her unimpressed brow. “Le ciel est bleu.”
“Très bien.” Narcis gave a slow, approving nod, “you know if you and Anya need help in Francian, Arnold and I our moms both speak Francian”
Becky seemed impressed “really?”
“Yeah, we could meet up over the weekend, and they could help us if you'd want?" Narcis asked coolly, though his hands were shaking with nervousness.
Arnold, ever the wingman and just as interested, picked up on this. "Yes, ladies, you’d be more than welcome. We could host it at Crowley Manor."
"Well, Hubrisse Manor could also work—it’s styled like an 18th-century chateau."
"Oh ho ho, Anya, did you hear that? Arnold and Narcis want to invite us over to their houses this weekend!" Becky shouted, grinning knowingly since she had clocked Damian nearby with his friends.
‘Never mind the grim reaper stuff, what did yours say
about love
?’
‘She said that if I get invited to his house, everything’ll be great.’
Damian didn’t dare let himself think what he had overheard Becky and Anya discussing…something ridiculous that a fortune teller had predicted told about Anya’s love life. He certainly was not bothered by the thought of that infuriating triangle-head or showy flappy-hair guy somehow stealing her away from him.
Anya, only half-listening, was still focused on memorizing her times tables. "Sure, if it'll help me study... Twelve times three equals..." She paused, biting her lip in deep concentration. "Thirty-six!"
“Well done, Anya, that’s right!” Bill said, gently patting her back, his large hand dwarfing her small frame.
Everyone at the table clapped and cheered for Anya.
Damian’s eye twitched.
This was ridiculous.
This was insane.
Why was Anya Forger suddenly putting in this much effort? And why the hell was that weirdo triangle head kid looking so smug about explaining things to her?!
His grip tightened on his textbook.
Damian crossed his arms. "Hah. What, did you all form some kind of remedial class for idiots?"
Ewen snickered. "That’s gotta be it. I mean, look at them—"
No response.
No snarky comeback from Anya. No haughty retort from Becky.
Nothing.
They just kept working.
Damian scowled. "Oi, are you morons deaf or something?"
Still nothing.
Anya didn’t even look up.
Damian felt something unfamiliar coil in his stomach.
Forger wasn’t just ignoring him—she was genuinely too focused to care.
A weird, prickly feeling crawled up his spine.
"C'mon, Bossman, let’s just go," Emile muttered, looking uncomfortable. "This is weird."
"Yeah," Ewen agreed. "Feels like we walked into a totally different school or something."
Damian didn’t answer.
Instead, he lingered just a moment longer, watching as Anya flipped a page, furrowing her brows.
It was stupid.
She was stupid.
And yet, this feeling... It was too much. It spilled out from his chest, crawled through his veins, suffocating him. He had to get her to say something, anything!
"What are you idiots doing?!" Damian shouted, pointing straight at Anya.
She looked up, only to immediately frown and grimace.
"Why do you care?!" Becky snapped, clearly annoyed. Now they all had his attention.
"Yeah, we’re studying?" Narcis huffed, barely looking up.
"Oh, hey, Damian, Emile, Ewen!" George greeted, as always oblivious to the tension. "Would you guys want to study with us?"
"OVER MY DEAD BODY WOULD I WANT TO STUDY WITH ANY OF YOU!" Damian screamed.
"Then why are you here?" Becky shot back, smirking.
"Bossman doesn’t have to explain himself to you!" Emile chirped, not quite grasping the situation but always loyal.
Damian’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Anya, who had resumed frowning and buried her head deeper in her book. She was actively avoiding him—like he was some sort of plague.
"I… I…" Damian stammered, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the situation. "I don’t know what you peasants are planning, but it’s weird that you’re suddenly studying, especially with stubby legs there. She’s so stupid and hopeless, she’s gonna fail everything anyway."
"Hey, that’s not true!" Arnold jumped to Anya’s defense. "Anya’s doing really well, and we’re just trying to work together. It doesn’t have to be a competition."
"Yeah, Damian, lay off," Becky added, crossing her arms.
"Are you guys sure you don’t want to study with us?" Bill said, fist-pumping the air. "Mr. Henderson said study groups are elegant, and it sounds like we’ve made weekend plans, too!"
"W-wait, we didn’t invite you guys…" Narcis murmured, his voice small, but it was ignored.
"N-no! We don’t want to study with you losers, or see you over the weekend!" Damian grimaced, even though his heart somehow plummeted at the idea of missing out. He could feel a tightness in his chest.
“Yeah, what Lord Damian said! Besides, I thought stubby legs there only wanted to go to his house!” Ewen added, pointing at Anya with exaggerated drama.
Anya, deep in her Francian textbook, finally looked up. “Oh, uh, I don’t want to go to Sy-on boy’s house anymore,” she said, her focus back on her book as she began reciting the colors in Francian. “Bleu, jaune, vert, orange, rouge…”
Becky gasped. “Oh, good for you, Anya! He was never good enough for you anyway!”
The words echoed in Damian’s ears, like a punch to the gut.
I don’t want to go to Sy-on boy’s house anymore.
Suddenly, his heart was pounding, his stomach twisted, and he felt a rush of nausea. “WELL, I WAS NEVER GOING TO INVITE YOU ANYWAY!” Damian shouted, his voice a mix of frustration and confusion.
He barely registered Anya reaching for Arnold, pointing at something in her Francian book, asking about something.
He ran away before he could even comprehend what had just happened, his chest tight, the unease gnawing at him.
“Lord Damian, wait!”
It wasn’t like any of that studying would do any good for her.
A Few Weeks Later
The shift in dynamics became undeniable.
“Forty.” Anya said in class one day, lowering her hand.
“Well done, Miss Forger, that is indeed correct.”
“Mes yeux sont verts.” Anya recited effortlessly, not even glancing at her textbook.
“Excellent pronunciation, Mademoiselle Forger!”
“It was in 1912, in Shrewsbury.” Anya answered, hesitating slightly.
“Yes, Miss Forger, that’s correct!” their history teacher beamed.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
The words exploded out of Damian as he shot up from his chair.
Not only had the entire world apparently gone mad—Anya had gone from the student who prayed not to be called on to the one volunteering answers—but in history?! HIS subject?!
The class turned to stare.
“Master Desmond, sit down!” The teacher scolded. “You’ll be staying after class for that outburst.”
Damian clenched his teeth as he dropped back into his seat, fists curled, tension thrumming through every inch of his body.
Who was this person?!
Anya Forger— Anya Forger —was answering questions correctly. Consistently.
His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, analyzing, waiting for some kind of glitch to reveal the truth.
Had she been abducted and replaced by an alien?! The thought violently pressed in his mind as there was no other explanation for her change in behaviour.
Anya turned slightly, just enough to glance at him.
And—
The look.
Her eyes widened, her face twitched in that way he hated as she turned pale, an almost sickly shade of green, her mouth forming a shaky expression of sheer horror.
She gasped.
The sound pierced the air, and she snapped her head away as if she’d just touched something burning.
…Had she just recoiled from him?
Did she… find him repulsive now?
What had he done?!
What did he say?!
Why did he care so much?!
Without thinking, the words erupted from him. “What is your problem, shrimp?! You think you’re too good to look at me now?!”
A mistake. A stupid, impulsive mistake.
In the middle of class.
Where he’d already been scolded once that day.
Silence.
Damian felt the weight of every pair of eyes on him, the tension so thick it was suffocating.
His heart pounded. His stomach churned.
He was doomed.
The teacher’s voice cut through the silence, thick with disapproval.
“Master Desmond…”
Leaving the classroom on his own, Damian sighed. He had gotten off lucky—being the best in the class meant the teacher had only given him a strict warning and assigned him to assist the Dorm Mother that weekend. He was relieved to have avoided a Tornitus Bolt, which would’ve been the perfect icing on the weird cake that had been Eden lately.
“Sy-on boy,” and speaking of odd, there she was—Anya, standing in the corridor. Great. What did she want now? To rub it in his face that he’d gotten in trouble?
His cheeks immediately heated up as he hadn’t been called that nickname for weeks now. He had missed it.
“Tch, what are you doing here? Where’s Blackbell?” he asked, genuinely curious as to why she was alone. Lately, she’d been hanging around with a group, and it bugged him. She and Becky were always with a crowd now, acting like they didn’t even know him anymore.
“She’s with the others in our study group,” Anya answered shyly, and once again, she didn’t seem like herself.
Would she ever go back to being the Anya he knew? The one who was so easy to mess with?
“I don’t want to go to Sy-on boy’s house anymore…”
The words echoed in his mind, but he shoved them away.
“You’re not in trouble, are you?” she asked, and there was something in her eyes—fear, maybe? It made him frown.
Why did she care?
“No, I’m not.” he answered flatly, trying to ignore the twinge in his chest.
Anya’s shoulders seemed to relax, her expression softening. “Oh, I’m glad. I was worried you’d get in trouble with your papa.”
Damian froze. Papa ? Why would she care about his father? She was the only one who didn’t care about him, or at least that’s what he had thought. So why now?
“Why do you care?” he asked, his voice a biting more than he intended.
Anya’s eyes widened, and she shifted nervously. This was the Anya he knew— very strange and a bit suspicious. “Uh, no reason… You just care what your papa thinks, right? I’m like that too!” she said quickly, flailing her arms in a way that made it look like she was hiding something.
Damian watched her, trying to make sense of it. But for a second, just a second, it felt like everything was back to normal—Anya, flustered and pretending everything was fine. He rolled his eyes, a familiar grin creeping onto his face. “Yeah, whatever you say, shrimp. You’re such a weirdo.”
He let out a breath, feeling lighter, as if the weight on his chest had lifted. She’s fine. It’s nothing, he told himself.
“You know, Sy-on, if you wanted to study with us, you can. It’s really good!” she said, her voice suddenly sharp and focused again, as if she had a mission.
Damian crossed his arms, determined to block out the little voice in his head that told him he was no longer being left out. “I don’t need to study with you guys,” he snapped, pretending not to care.
Anya paused, then smiled brightly at him, though there was a strange edge to it. “Okey dokey, see you later, Sy-on! I’m glad you won’t be in trouble with your papa,” she said, her tone a little too cheerful.
She skipped off to her study group, and Damian stood there, watching her go. But something gnawed at him, an unease he couldn’t shake. He turned away quickly, trying to forget the strange way Anya had looked at him, the way her voice had faltered when she mentioned his father. Reminders of when she had given him a similar look during the festival began to flood his brain.
He clenched his fists, he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about any of it.
“Anya! There you are! We can go over the history of the Sneig civilization now! Did you know that they were the first to settle here in Berlint?” Arnold said brightly as Anya took a seat next to him, moving the already opened history book between them.
“That’s not true!” Damian countered immediately, ignoring how annoying it was that Arnold was sitting so close to Anya. Without any hesitation he took the seat next to Anya on the opposing side, his eyes narrowing at Arnold. “The Rimanian Empire had made contact here before then!” he added, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible, though the blood was boiling in his veins.
“Uh, are you joining us, Damian?” Becky asked with a chuckle, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding. She sat across from them with Bill and Narcis.
“I don’t remember anyone inviting you,” Arnold sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he glared back at Damian.
“I invited Sy-on,” Anya said, her voice soft as she stared at the book in front of her, completely oblivious to the silent battle happening on either side of her.
“Oh Anya! You’re so nice! I’m guessing that means Emile and Ewen will be joining us too! We’ll need a bigger table!” Becky exclaimed, her giggle ringing in the air.
“W-What? A bigger table?” Narcis said, sweat-dropping, clearly uncomfortable with the direction things were taking. Of course, his words went unnoticed.
“I’m on it!” Bill announced, as always, ready to lift anything—even a table over his head without breaking a sweat, placing it next to them like it was nothing.
Damian gritted his teeth, focusing back on the discussion. “The Sneig civilization did settle here and that did turn into modern Berlint, but the Rimanian Empire had already been here for a century before then! They used this area as a base to spy on neighboring empires!” Damian stated with barely-contained fury. If that stupid, stubby-legged girl was going to learn history, she should at least learn it right.
Anya’s eyes suddenly widened, her gaze fixed on him. “Spies??”
Damian’s heart skipped a beat at her genuine interest and her stupid blinding twinkling eyes gleaming with excitement. He quickly averted his gaze, trying to keep his composure as his heart rate accelerated.. "I... Well, of course! Don’t act like I’m explaining something that complicated," he muttered.
He could feel his face warming as she continued to look at him with that bright, curious expression. He wasn’t sure why it made his stomach twist, but he definitely wasn’t going to admit it out loud.
Maybe he would start joining this study group. Afterall, someone of his high stature had a responsibility to assist those from the lower classes, right? It had nothing–nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with
her
. Just doing his duty and these peons clearly needed his help anyway.
That’s all it was.