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After their decisive confrontation Leo and Lukas made their way to the infirmary. Lukas spent the time while they were treating their wounds, answering Leo’s questions until they had to make their way back to their dorms. When they finally stepped outside together, there was no one in sight—no students lingering, no instructors patrolling.
“Don’t acknowledge me from here,” Lukas said, his voice deliberately casual, as though he were commenting on the weather.
Leo slowed, frowning. “What?”
“If you suddenly start being… decent to me,” Lukas continued, “people will notice. They’ll think it’s strange.” He glanced down the empty path ahead. “Come find me only when there aren’t any students around.”
Leo stopped entirely.
He studied Lukas for a long moment, gaze steady and unreadable. Lukas resisted the urge to shift under it. After a moment, Leo rubbed his chin, considering. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Let’s do it differently.”
Lukas blinked. “Differently how?”
Leo said carefully, “People already expect certain things from us.”
From you, Lukas assumed.
“I’m not going back to how we were,” Leo replied, firm and immediate. “But we don’t have to hide everything either.” He straightened, expression settling into something composed. Deliberate. “We’ll make it look like my father ordered me to treat you properly.”
Lukas hesitated. “You mean… pretend you’re being forced?”
“Yes.” Leo’s answer came without pause.
“That’s more complicated.” Lukas stated plainly.
“But it’d believable,” Leo countered. “And it gives us room.”
Why would that be more believable? But Lukas didn’t voice that question out loud.
Instead he asked, “Room for what?”
Leo paused. Just briefly. “To exist normally,” he said. “Without drawing too much attention. Publicly, I’m following orders. Privately…” His gaze sharpened. “We don’t pretend.”
Lukas stared at him, confusion quietly swirling through him. He didn’t understand why Leo was choosing a path that was more complicated, more visible. It would have been easier to disappear, to keep distance, to avoid scrutiny altogether.
But there was something final about the way Leo said it, as if the decision had already been made long before Lukas was part of it.
After a moment, Lukas nodded, deciding to trust Leo. “Fine. I’ll go along with it.”
Leo’s expression softened just enough to be noticeable. A faint, satisfied glimmer surfaced beneath his carefully neutral mask. “Good. Then don’t worry about the medicine. I’ll have my family handle it.”
“Thanks,” Lukas said.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like alignment. Like they were moving in the same direction, even if Lukas wasn’t sure where that direction led.
The conversation ended smoothly and, given Leo’s usual obsession with results and visible improvement, Lukas was confident things would work out.
Now, Lukas thought as they parted ways, I just need to focus on improving my skills.
The days following settled into an unusual rhythm.
When other students stared too long, Leo positioned himself half a step in front of Lukas.
When rumors resurfaced, Leo shut them down—not aggressively, but decisively, with the authority of someone whose word carried weight.
Lukas noticed.
Of course he did.
But he told himself it was part of the act. The natural result of Leo trying to undo past behavior without admitting fault because of his father’s “orders”.
It wasn’t until later that it started to feel… a little too much.
Leo began waiting for him after class.
Not every time. Not obviously.
Just often enough that Lukas found himself expecting it.
“You’re heading back now?” Leo would ask, casual.
Or, “You skipped lunch again.”
He remembered Lukas’s schedule. Which professors drained him the most. Which days the medicine headaches worsened.
“You don’t need to keep track of all that,” Lukas said once.
“I do,” Leo replied without hesitation. Then, after a pause, “Someone should.”
While Lukas had laughed it off at the time, Leo seemed to take it as a challenge.
Becoming even more mindful to the point of even choosing his words carefully— determined never to say the wrong thing again.
At first, Lukas assumed, that outside of their act, perhaps Leo was feeling some remorse for his past behavior.
The sharp disappointment that once lived easily in Leo’s voice vanished. When they sparred, Leo explained before correcting. When Lukas faltered, Leo waited instead of snapping. He spoke with patience that felt practiced—intentional.
It was… respectful.
Almost excessively so.
“You don’t need to hold back,” Lukas said on the third day, rolling his shoulder after a particularly grueling session. “I won’t break.”
“I know,” Leo replied immediately. “That’s not why.”
He didn’t elaborate.
But, after that, Leo began to push him harder. Not cruelly, not with that old cutting sharpness. Leo pushed him the way someone sharpened a blade they intended to rely on. Every maneuver was designed to stretch Lukas just enough to force improvement, never enough to cause real harm.
When Lukas stumbled, Leo’s hand was there instantly, steadying him. When a spell backfired and left Lukas dizzy, Leo produced water from nowhere and pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. He adjusted Lukas’s uniform without comment, checked his breathing, examined bruises Lukas hadn’t bothered mentioning. And always made sure to give him quiet assessments.
“Your form slipped for a second,” Leo said once, fingers resting briefly on Lukas’s shoulders as he corrected his stance. “But your magic is strong. Well controlled. That matters.”
Lukas didn’t respond. He couldn’t, so out of breath as he was.
Every session left him exhausted—but also strangely anchored. Watched. Cared for with an attentiveness that bordered on obsessive.
It was maddening—exhausting and comforting in equal measure.
Lukas couldn’t tell whether this was Leo’s attempt at penance, an extension of his training fixation, or something else entirely. All he knew was that he hadn’t felt this deliberately looked after in years.
They continued their careful performance.
One afternoon in the courtyard, as students bustled around, Lukas raised his voice just enough for those nearby to hear. “Your father’s really on your case, huh?”
Leo responded without missing a beat. “He always has been. Says I need to treat you… appropriately.”
“Appropriately?” Lukas echoed.
“Publicly,” Leo clarified. “Don’t misunderstand.”
“Of course,” Lukas said dryly. “Bare minimum.”
To anyone watching, it looked like reluctant obedience and resigned tolerance.
Behind the act, Leo’s attention never wavered.
Lukas should have suspected that something was amiss but he never questioned it. Not even when Lukas began to catch fragments of conversation drifting just a little too clearly from a pair of upper-year students near the windows.
“…not subtle about it anymore,” one of them murmured.
“Well, it’s not like he has a choice,” the other replied. “Not with his family watching.”
Lukas didn’t slow. He didn’t turn his head. But his attention sharpened despite himself.
“I heard it’s already been decided,” the first voice continued. “That’s why he’s acting like that. You don’t just change overnight.”
“Exactly. He can’t afford another incident.”
Lukas passed them without a glance.
Another incident, he thought. So that’s what they think this is.
By the time he reached the stairs, the whispers had already reshaped themselves into something familiar—politics. Reputation. Leo’s father tightening his grip on Leo’s behavior.
It was an explanation that fit neatly. Comfortably.
He didn’t think about it again.
But the comments didn’t stop after that.
They surfaced in pieces. Half-sentences carried just far enough to be overheard.
In class. “…their two magics together…”
In the hallways. “…bound to happen eventually…”
In the cafeteria. “…well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Even in the library, someone laughed quietly and said, “At least now he looks like he understands what he’s responsible for.”
Lukas stared down at the page in front of him until the words blurred.
Responsible, he echoed internally. For what?
The answer came easily enough: Leo was an heir. Lukas was inconvenient. Their association was useful now. Necessary. Controlled.
Anything else would’ve been ridiculous.
For the most part Lukas had no problem brushing them off—until one voice, careless and curious, drifted closer than the others, catching not only his but also Leo’s attention.
“So that’s why they’re always together now?”
Another voice answered, quieter. “Obviously. You don’t watch someone like that unless—”
Leo shifted beside Lukas.
Not sharply. Not defensively.
Just enough to place himself between Lukas and the voices, posture straight, presence firm.
The whispers stopped.
Lukas exhaled slowly. “You don’t have to do that.”
Leo didn’t look at him. “Do what?”
“Whatever that was.”
There was a brief pause. “People speculate,” Leo said evenly. “It’s better not to give them material.”
Lukas scoffed. “Speculate about what? That your father’s micromanaging you?”
Leo’s jaw tightened—barely.
“If that explanation works for you,” he said, “then stick with it.”
Lukas frowned. “You say that like—”
“Like what?”
Lukas chose to wave it off. “Nothing.”
For a while, they walked in silence, the air between them neither hostile nor warm, just… measured. Lukas kept his thoughts to himself, unsure whether Leo’s irritation was real or part of the careful performance they were both maintaining. By the time they reached the training grounds, the tension had faded enough that Lukas barely noticed Leo lingering behind him, watching with that same sharp attentiveness he always did.
The sparring session ran long.
Afterwards, it took Lukas a moment to realized Leo had draped his uniform jacket over his shoulders as Lukas sat doing his best to recover some strength.
“You’re bleeding through your sleeve,” Leo said, adjusting it over his shoulders. “I’d rather not have you injure yourself needlessly.”
“Rather not?” Lukas echoed breaths coming out in pants.
Leo met his gaze. “It reflects poorly,” he said smoothly.
Lukas snorted. “On who?”
Leo didn’t answer.
Later, lying awake, Lukas stared at the ceiling longer than usual.
This is excessive, he thought.
It’s probably just his guilt for treating Lukas so badly for so long mixed with his commitment to making the act believable. Lukas argued back to himself.
The whispers tried to surface again—already decided, always knew, responsible—but Lukas pushed them aside.
People liked inventing stories.
Especially when noble families were involved.
He didn’t question why the thought felt less convincing each time.
When the realization finally came—quiet, startling—it felt less like discovery and more like everything snapping into place.
They were sitting on the training ground steps, cooling down as dusk settled in.
“I should’ve treated you like this from the start,” Leo said.
Lukas hummed. “You’re doing fine now.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Leo turned fully toward him. “I thought respect had to be earned through results,” he said. “Through visible effort. While I don’t think I’m wrong, I can admit it might not be that simple.”
“You figured that out late.”
“Yes,” Leo said immediately. “And I won’t excuse it.”
There was no defensiveness in his voice. Only resolve.
“This isn’t temporary,” Leo continued. “I won’t stop once it becomes inconvenient.”
Lukas frowned. “You’re talking like this is an obligation.”
Leo smiled faintly. “Some things are.”
He stepped closer.
“I know you don’t like the acknowledge it, and I understand the fault for that mainly lies with me, but we’ll be living together eventually,” Leo said quietly. “I can’t afford to keep treating you the way I used to.”
Lukas blinked. “Wait—what do you—?”
Leo leaned down and pressed a brief, deliberate kiss to his cheek.
Not rushed but slightly possessive.
“I won’t treat you as disposable again,” Leo said softly. “Not as a mage. Not as a person. Not as someone entrusted to me.”
He stepped back immediately.
Lukas didn’t move.
Something tightened in his chest—not embarrassment, not warmth, but clarity.
The whispers resurfaced all at once, no longer vague.
Always knew it would be him.
Already decided.
Responsible.
Oh, he thought. This isn’t guilt.
Leo paused, as if debating whether to say more. Then he turned and left.
Lukas touched his cheek long after.
Not because of the kiss.
But because of everything it suddenly recontextualized.
And for the first time since transmigrating, something dangerously unfamiliar settled into his chest.
He couldn’t help but think, This wasn’t in the book.