It was never easy for most victims to speak up.
The lingering fear that sharing their truth would make things worse made them unable to stand up for themselves.
Would anyone believe them?
Would their words be dismissed or twisted?
Cassandra, having given a deadline, started to panic.
Her mind stirred with possibilities.
Would her family suffer just like her too? Would the Wyndale’s abuse their power to that extent?
She had knocked on the door of every Professor she came across.
Some offered words of consolation. Others listened but did nothing.
It didn’t matter whether they believed her or dismissed her claims. Without evidence, no one dared to act.
A commoner like her could cry out to the heavens themselves, but without proof, her words would never outweigh Desmond Wyndale’s power.
“Cassandra!”
A familiar voice broke through her thoughts. She turned to see Charlotte hurrying toward her, carrying a bunch of textbooks.
“Do you want to study in the library together?” Charlotte asked with a cheerful tone.
Cassandra swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet Charlotte’s gaze. Her cheerful demeanor was, of course, understandable.
But Cassandra hesitated. She didn’t want to burden Charlotte with her problems.
After all, what could she possibly do?
Cassandra had already done what she could—she had told the Professor.
Beyond that, seeking sympathy or pity from others seemed pointless.
What would the other students do?
Pity her? Whisper behind her back? Pretend to care while avoiding her the moment things got messy?
No, she thought bitterly. Seeking pity would only make everything worse.
“Sure,” she said.
“Great! We haven’t hung it in a while, but I guess the past few days have been quite hectic.”
“It has,” Cassandra replied flatly.
‘You have no idea, Charlotte.’
As they walked, Cassandra’s steps faltered when she noticed they weren’t heading toward the library.
“Charlotte, where are we—”
“Come inside,” Charlotte interrupted with a smile, pushing open the door to an empty lecture room.
Reluctantly, Cassandra stepped inside. As soon as she entered, she froze.
“Hello, Casseia.”
“….”
Cassandra froze. There were two other people waiting in the room.
Ezra Kaelus, leaning casually against a desk, and the unmistakable figure of Astrid Barielle Aetherion, standing tall with her arms crossed.
The lecture room was dimly lit, but it was unmistakably them.
It looked like a scene out of a movie.
“We’ll help you,” Ezra said.
“….”
Cassandra’s mouth hung open slightly as she focused on the Princess. For the first time in what felt like forever, a sense of hope finally emerged within her heart.
If even the Princess was willing to help, maybe—just maybe—this was her chance.
Turning her gaze to Charlotte, she found her roommate giving her an encouraging nod.
“….”
Cassandra’s hands clenched into fists as a wave of guilt swept over her.
She couldn’t deny the feeling of resentment toward Charlotte.
Yet here she was, standing by her side.
And then, beneath that guilt, another thought surfaced.
If there truly was no hope for her….
If no one would stand against Desmond…
If even Professor Vanitas had abandoned her….
“….”
She was prepared to uphold Desmond’s demand.
To accuse the Professor of sexual harassment.
Finding her resolve, Cassandra clasped her hand against her chest and stepped forward.
“I….”
***
Crossing his arms, Vanitas leaned on the wall of the empty classroom.
He had just arrived, but since the classroom was in the same direction as his office, he stumbled upon it.
The sight of Charlotte and Cassandra entering the classroom.
From behind the door, he could make out bits and pieces of their conversation.
Things were proceeding as planned.
While Vanitas had taken direct action to deal with the root cause of Cassandra’s suffering, he knew that alone wouldn’t erase the trauma that gnawed at her.
He was a mere office worker. He had no talent for eloquent words to offer or to console her.
Even if he tried, his words would likely hold little meaning to someone like Cassandra.
No, the best course of action was to let the students themselves resolve the matter.
To help Cassandra realize she wasn’t alone.
For that reason, Vanitas had carefully orchestrated this scenario.
He had tipped Ezra off about the situation subtly.
Because Vanitas knew exactly the kind of person Ezra was.
Satisfied, Vanitas turned and walked away, heading back to his office.
His role here was complete. After providing Gordon with the necessary tools, he had taken one additional step.
An anonymous tip had been sent to the Crusade Order, specifically to Margaret’s group.
While there were a lot of corruption in the system, Vanitas knew Margaret was an exception.
From the original game’s narratives, she may have been clumsy, but her integrity was beyond question.
And while her group had a traitor among them, Margaret was already vigilant.
The traitor wouldn’t dare act recklessly under her watch.
———「Event Act: Wyndale Oppression」———
「Rewards:」
◆ Understanding: +10%
————————————
***
Desmond had always been revered by his peers.
Blessed with talent for magic, unlike his Father, the pressure from his Household was immense.
His Father’s expectations for him were too much, to the point where if he faltered once, it wouldn’t just end with scolding.
His Mother, on the other hand, was a different chaos.
A researcher with a degree in alchemy, and a kind but clumsy Mother.
Desmond could practically remember the arguments his Mother and Father had every night while growing up.
——Mother, I want to stay with you….
——I’m sorry, Desmond. But your Father needs you here, you are his heir.
——And do you not need me!?
His Mother’s silence was all the answer he needed.
She did not need him.
She did not want him.
And after their divorce when he was just eight years—old, Desmond felt truly traumatized.
“….”
A child often learns from their environment growing up.
Growing up in a toxic household, Desmond had the tendency to snap at his peers whenever it was to his dislike.
But it never led anywhere.
Because he was a Wyndale.
“Ah.”
The power was amazing.
He was practically untouchable.
“No wonder Father enjoys this.”
But Desmond wasn’t an idiot to escalate things further. So, entering University, he lived a quiet life.
While rumors about him in highschool spread, they were only that.
Rumors.
To him, women were always an enigma. Why marry when you were going to leave anyway?
Why have a child when you were going to abandon them anyway?
It didn’t take long for him to understand the first two points.
It was simply because the man wanted them.
One rainy afternoon, as Desmond stared out the window, he saw her.
Arwen Ainsley.
A senior in her third year.
While everyone else had already sought shelter from the downpour, Arwen remained outside, casting her magic while waving her staff in the air like an idiot.
——….Through the fury of the elements, I command your power—Cumulonimbus!
But nothing happened.
Desmond found it funny, pathetic even.
From what he knew, third years who were about to graduate had to submit a thesis for their very own creation.
He wasn’t sure about the entire criteria, but from the length of her chant, which spanned for nearly thirty seconds, it seemed to be a Grandmaster spell.
After all, spells above Master needed a Medium such as a staff to control its power.
In other words, Arwen was crazy.
A Master spell was one thing, but Grandmaster was impossible to attempt after just three years of college.
It was hard to see her on regular days, but everytime it rained, Desmond knew exactly where to find her.
Outside, underneath the oak tree, attempting the same spell over and over with no results at all.
But everytime he stumbled upon the sight, Desmond found himself unable to look away.
No, it would be more accurate to say he was drawn to her.
So, silently, Desmond wished for her success, while using her as an inspiration for his studies.
——You failed.
“….”
But the world wasn’t all bright and sunny. He, who had always been revered, had failed a course in just his first year.
Vanitas Astrea.
This Professor was the sole reason he became an irregular student.
Just that one subject which was taught by him. That one subject he just couldn’t pass no matter how much he studied.
But at this point, Desmond did not harbor disdain toward the Professor. Just self deprecation.
Feeling quite depressed, Desmond stumbled upon her by chance in the hallway, carrying a bunch of documents.
——Ah, sorry. Didn’t see you there.
Arwen.
It was their first encounter, and Desmond stumbled with his words.
——Desmond? Okay, I’ll remember that. Thanks for wishing me luck!
It was then when he realized it was raining outside.
Meaning, Arwen was headed there again.
And so, without her knowing, Desmond followed her, to see her perform her spell up close.
The rain poured down heavily, soaking his uniform, but Desmond paid no heed to it.
Arwen stood there. Around her on the grass lay parchment papers with various magic circles.
——….Cumulonimbus!
And once more, she failed.
——….Cumulonimbus!
Again.
——….Cumulonimbus!
Again.
——….Cumulonimbus!
And again.
But she was persistent.
She had tweaked the chant, the nodes, the frequency, and the variables for each attempt.
She was truly a hard worker. Desmond, admittedly, admired that about her.
It took two hours of thorough refinement, but then it finally happened.
—O great spirit of the storm, rise from the chaos and converge into towering might! Darken the skies, enrapture your torrents, and rend the earth with your symphony.
“What the…?”
It was happening.
The sky began to shift. Dark clouds gathered, merging into a swirling mass, causing the already dim atmosphere to grow even darker.
—….Through the fury of the elements, I command your power—Cumulonimbus!
Bang!
As her staff struck the ground, it was as if the heavens responded.
The downpour intensified into an unrelenting typhoon. A jagged streak of lightning tore through the air, striking the ground with a loud bang.
And then, in an instant, the spell collapsed, returning to normal.
Despite the chaos, Desmond found his gaze fixed—not on the spell itself, but on the mage who had brought it to life.
She stood radiant. Desmond found her presence captivating as the storm began to subside.
The clearing sky spilled golden rays, illuminating Arwen’s face and accentuating her beauty.
“Amazing!”
He screamed, causing Arwen to be startled.
—Ah? You….! What are you doing here? It’s dangerous!
“That was amazing, Lady Arwen!”
But life wasn’t as beautiful as the scene he had seen on that day.
During the second semester, when the third years had to present their thesis, Desmond couldn’t help but be curious.
How will the Professors react to her magic?
Will ‘that’ Professor be there?
For some reason, he wanted to see Vanitas Astrea entranced by Arwen’s magic.
Why wouldn’t they? Why wouldn’t he?
While he had only seen her Cumulonimbus spell once, and though it was still a mess back then, surely, Arwen had refined and perfected the spell.
He couldn’t actually hear the words from outside the auditorium, but through the window on the door, he could see their faces clearly.
Arwen was presenting her spell, and Desmond had never seen her look so composed, so dignified before.
Her usually disheveled hair was perfectly styled, complemented by subtle makeup.
The sight of her made his heart skip a beat.
As she finished, a smile was plastered on her face, and Desmond grinned in return.
“Go, Arwen!” he whispered under his breath, watching as the Professors began their evaluation.
But as time dragged on, something shifted. The smile on her face faltered, then faded entirely.
“….”
Why wasn’t she smiling anymore?
Then, confusion morphed into something darker as he noticed the tension in her posture.
Her lips were moving quickly now, and her face twisted with frustration.
“What…?”
Why was she screaming? Why did it look like she was fighting back?
And then he saw it.
The glint of tears in her eyes.
“Why are you crying….?”
***
It didn’t take long for Desmond to find out why.
——Did you hear? One of the third-years was caught plagiarizing their thesis.
——No way! How could someone even think of doing that?
Plagiarism.
In the world of magic, plagiarism was a severe crime.
A mark of shame that followed the mage for life.
To steal someone else’s work was to not only undermine their efforts but to defile the very essence of magic itself.
The accusations spread quickly like wildfire.
Arwen Ainsley, was suddenly labeled a thief.
——Didn’t she use that Cumulonimbus spell during her presentation? I heard it was a spell that had already been invented centuries ago.
——I heard she just changed the name of the spell.
——Really? I thought she was better than that.
The betrayal Desmond felt wasn’t directed at Arwen but at the audacity of the claim itself.
He knew her. He knew the countless hours she spent under the rain, practicing, refining the circuits, writing the spell itself on the papers to perfection.
But what truly broke him was when he caught sight of her days later, sitting alone beneath the very sky she used to draw strength from.
Her once bright eyes were dull, her shoulders slumped as if she had given up.
She didn’t need to say a word. The defeat in her demeanor was enough.
And with plagiarism, came the harshest punishment for every University student.
Expulsion.
No, that wasn’t quite accurate.
Because she had never been expelled in the first place.
How would they?
After all, under the oak tree, where Arwen spent hours upon hours recalibrating and conducting trial and error.
Fwooosh—
….Was the very same oak tree where her lifeless body swayed gently in the breeze.
