Chương 32: Pity the Reality She Decides to Rewrite

[Time]: Immediately following the Ludwig Call [Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Dormitory [Golden Bough] · Room 302 The hologram flickered to life, projecting a new reality into the cramped dorm room. A study bathed in soft, silvery moonlight filtered through high, gothic windows. Ancient tomes lined the walls in perfect, soldier-like order. A floating silver teapot poured tea into a delicate china cup without a single clink of porcelain. Sitting in a high-backed velvet chair was a young woman.

Hathaway's breath hitched. She possessed none of the blinding, aggressive solar energy of the Ludwigs. She was undeniably a Wellington—the silver hair and misty blue eyes were the family signature—but where Victoria's beauty was forged from sharp, cold, dangerous angles, this woman was fluid. Soft. Her silver hair was elegantly pinned up, revealing a long, slender neck as white and fragile as porcelain. Her features were ravishing, yet the sheer impact of her beauty was softened by a gentle, unassuming aura.

Her eyes were open—pools of endless, misty blue. Like Victoria's, they held no focus, but they curved into a gentle smile that seemed to embrace the entire room. She sat in her black lace dress, poised and regal. An elegant Black Swan resting on a moonlit lake. Cecilia Wellington. The Second Daughter. The Heir. Hathaway stared at the elegant figure, a chill crawling up her spine. This is the woman I called a 'Failure'? I painted her as a disappointment. But looking at her... she looks like a poem.

She looks like a Saint.

"Vicky?" Cecilia's voice floated out. It was a soft breeze through wind chimes—soothing, warm, and utterly enchanting.

"It has been a month. You haven't written home."

"Sister," Victoria bowed her head slightly, a tremor of genuine affection in her voice.

"I apologize. I was... occupied with a project."

"A project?" Cecilia tilted her head, her tone laced with nothing but concern.

"You are working too hard again. Your voice sounds tight. Are you eating well? Is the dormitory cold? I sent you a box of winter tea, did you receive it?"

"I did, Sister. Thank you," Victoria replied, her gaze softening. But then, a hint of aristocratic disapproval crept into her voice.

"But what about you? Is your Folklore expedition in the Deep Periphery complete? I worry when you and your... cohort linger in those undocumented zones."

"The joint thesis is submitted and approved," Cecilia smiled gently, taking a slow sip of her tea.

"And you worry too much, Vicky. Wei and Maria were quite thorough with the field research. The locals were very... hands-on with their traditional marriage customs, but we eventually reached a mutual understanding." Hathaway listened quietly. She knew Cecilia was a PhD in Folklore. On Earth, that meant reading fairy tales and analyzing pottery. Here, it probably meant interviewing rustic Witches about flower crowns and country dances. Cute.

"Besides," Cecilia continued, setting her teacup down with a soft click.

"We had to return. Milla and Karula were getting terribly impatient. We filed the paperwork this morning. Wei and I signed the lease." Cecilia's smile widened into something undeniably fond, almost glowing.

"『Greed Umbrella』 is officially registered. We are debuting in the Grand Masters this summer." The temperature in the dormitory plummeted. Hathaway watched as Victoria's expression went from 'loving younger sister' to 'jealous, deeply offended demon' in half a second. Victoria's jaw tightened, and her blue eyes darkened ominously.

"The Grand Masters," Victoria repeated, her voice tight with suppressed frustration.

"Sister... the main event is only two and a half months away, and the Open Qualifiers begin in just six weeks. And you five registered an independent club... today?" Victoria gripped the edge of her desk.

"It is absurd, Cecilia! The Grand Masters has the lowest prize pool of the year—a mere two hundred thousand Solars! Commercial clubs avoid it precisely because the infrastructure demands dwarf any possible return. And you five registered today, with six weeks before qualifiers begin. You will be seeded at the absolute bottom. This is not a debut. This is a slaughter." She stopped. Then, quieter: "And you will be back in the field. In undocumented zones. With those four. Again."

Cecilia let out a melodic, effortless laugh. She seemed completely immune to her younger sister's blazing jealousy over the four women who monopolized her time.

"Oh, Vicky. Profit isn't everything," Cecilia replied breezily, as if she were talking about joining a weekend knitting circle.

"The commercial clubs wouldn't guarantee that all five of us could start on the same roster. So, we simply made our own. Sometimes, a shared umbrella is worth standing in the rain a little longer. You should come watch our first match." Victoria looked like she wanted to cast an Unforgivable Curse on Wei, Karula, Milla, and Maria all at once, but she forced a stiff, agonizing nod.

"If that is your wish, Sister. I will be there." Hathaway sat frozen in her corner, her brain processing the sheer absurdity of what she had just heard. Are they insane? Hathaway thought, her former game-planner instincts screaming. The Starry Sea hosted thirty major tournaments a year, but the Grand Masters was infamous. It paid the absolute least, yet it held the highest prestige. It was essentially a massive, highly violent "Know Your Place" grudge match between the Grand Districts.

It drew out absolute monsters and even Grand Witches who didn't care about the prize money—they only cared about the Face. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. And these five folklore PhDs just registered a startup club today? With barely six weeks left before the qualifiers? They wouldn't even make it to the main event in late summer.

A brand-new indie club couldn't just walk onto the national stage; they would have to start from the absolute bottom—the brutal Regional Open Qualifiers. They would be chewed up and spat out by desperate, amateur brawlers before they even smelled the main arena. All because they didn't want to be separated by a draft? It's a delusional vanity project fueled by academic arrogance and toxic codependency, Hathaway concluded, feeling a bizarre mix of awe and secondhand embarrassment.

They are going to get slaughtered in the regionals. Even with unfocused eyes, Cecilia sensed the sudden spike of absolute bewilderment in Hathaway's ether.

"Oh?" Cecilia hummed, a delighted sound, effortlessly changing the subject.

"You have a guest?" Victoria stiffened slightly, forcing her jealousy down.

"Yes, Sister. My roommate." Cecilia turned her face toward Hathaway's corner. A distinct, physical sensation washed over Hathaway—like a warm breeze passing straight through her soul.

"How wonderful," Cecilia murmured appreciatively, a genuine smile touching her lips.

"It is rare to see such a calm color. Like a fireplace in winter. Is she a scholar from the Silent Valley? Or perhaps a researcher of the Deep Arts?" Hathaway's back muscles locked. The Wellington Vision Trap. Even without sight, they saw too much.

"She is..." Victoria hesitated slightly.

"She is my student, Sister. I have been tutoring her for the A1 Exam."

"The A1 Exam?" Hathaway braced herself, waiting for the polite facade to drop. For the inevitable sneer at a university student taking a basic logic test. But the tone never shifted.

"A1... The 'Logic Construction' phase," Cecilia said softly, her voice filled with a scholar's warmth.

"It is a beautiful period in a Witch's life. The moment one defines who they are, separating their own truth from the noise of the world. To build one's foundation carefully is a luxury, not a delay." She nodded approvingly at Victoria.

"You are doing a good thing, Vicky. Guiding a fledgling through their first flight requires patience." Hathaway sat there, stunned. She didn't treat Hathaway like an idiot; she framed her academic struggle as a "Philosophical Pilgrimage." It was a terrifying level of grace. Cecilia leaned closer to the projection, her "blind" face turning towards Hathaway with pure benevolence.

"Hello there, Miss. Thank you for keeping my sister company. What is your name?" Hathaway swallowed hard, straightening her back to muster the dignity of her bloodline.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Cecilia," Hathaway said steadily.

"I am Hathaway."

"Hathaway..." Cecilia tested the name.

"A lovely name. And your family?" Hathaway closed her eyes. Here comes the crash.

"Hathaway von Ludwig." She waited for the temperature in the room to drop. For the teacup to halt mid-air. For the polite excuse to end the call. But the only sound was the soft rustle of silk as Cecilia adjusted her posture.

"A Ludwig?" Cecilia's tone was light, curious—as if she had just discovered her tea leaves came from a rare, exotic mountain.

"I see," Cecilia nodded, her expression filled with fascination.

"You are... distinct. The Ludwigs are known for their 'passionate' solar energy. Blinding. Golden. Loud." She chuckled softly, completely devoid of malice.

"But you, Miss Hathaway, you feel like the eye of a storm. A Quiet Lion. Very precious." She turned back to Victoria.

"Vicky, you have found a unique friend. A quiet Ludwig is a treasure."

"Yes, Sister," Victoria replied, relaxing visibly.

"She is... compatible." Hathaway sat there, her brain short-circuiting. Cecilia treated the family name—the name of her hereditary enemies—like a mere biological trait. Hathaway held her breath, waiting for the inevitable question about Rhode. Rhode was the loudest thing in the universe. To a Wellington, a Ludwig meant Rhode. But Cecilia simply talked about tea. She asked if the climate in District 1 was comfortable. She never once mentioned the Golden Lion.

It's not that she doesn't know, Hathaway realized with a jolt. It's that she doesn't care. To Cecilia, the feud was mere static. And she would not let static disturb a guest.

"Well," Cecilia sighed contentedly.

"I should not keep you from your studies. Good luck, Miss Hathaway. If you ever find the noise of your family... overwhelming, you are welcome to visit Wellington House. We value silence."

"Vicky, call me after the exam. Take care of yourself."

"Yes, Sister. I love you, Sister." Click. The hologram vanished. The room plunged back into a heavy, contemplative silence. Hathaway exhaled a long breath, staring at the empty air.

"Wow." Victoria turned around, raising an eyebrow.

"Wow?"

"She's..." Hathaway struggled to process the encounter.

"She's so... gentle. Like a poem." Hathaway frowned, her mind shifting from the Saint's grace back to the brutal reality of the arena.

"But Teacher," Hathaway asked hesitantly.

"I know Rhode is entering the Grand Masters this year with a top-tier guild. I was expecting some world-shaking showdown between them. But Lady Cecilia just formed an indie club today... Do you really think they can even pass the Regional Qualifiers?" Victoria's expression twisted into an agonizing grimace. She looked as if she had just swallowed broken glass at the mere thought of Wei, Karula, Milla, and Maria dragging her pristine sister into the mud of the Regionals. But slowly, Victoria straightened her back.

She smoothed her skirt, burying her revulsion beneath a mask of absolute, aristocratic certainty.

"My sister is the Ace," Victoria said stiffly.

"I believe in her." Hathaway nodded slowly, knowing better than to argue with a siscon. But the core paradox still gnawed at her. They are rivals. That meant her cousin, the walking Supernova who vaporized everything she touched, went toe-to-toe with this fragile, tea-sipping flower who stalled her career just to play games with her academic besties. And they are tied. The logic chain clicked into place, horrific and undeniable. Rhode dominated everything.

If Cecilia were truly just a fragile scholar, the Golden Lion would have crushed her years ago. The fact that Cecilia was still sitting there, smiling in the moonlight as the uncontested Heir, meant this 'Garden' could somehow withstand a 'Supernova'. Hathaway felt a deep, existential chill.

"But individually," Hathaway asked, her voice filled with a sudden, terrifying respect for the fundamental laws of physics.

"How does Rhode... fight her? Rhode is a Monster. She burns the sky. But Lady Cecilia looks like she would shatter if I spoke too loudly. How can a nuclear warhead be rivals with a porcelain doll?" Victoria studied Hathaway's bewildered expression. The pain of the 'Greed Umbrella' conversation vanished, replaced by a profound reverence. It was not the look of a protective sister, but of a believer stating a cold, hard fact of the universe.

"You judge power by the noise it makes, Hathaway," Victoria said quietly.

"You think because Rhode roars, she is strong. You think because Cecilia whispers, she is weak." Victoria turned back toward the window, her blue eyes piercing through the darkness.

"Rhode roars because she wants the world to look at her." Victoria stood up, her shadow stretching across the floor.

"Cecilia doesn't need to roar. Because when she speaks, the world has no choice but to listen." She looked at Hathaway, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried more weight than any shout.

"Do not pity her fragility, Hathaway. Pity the reality she decides to rewrite." The chill in Hathaway's spine solidified. The "Saint" wasn't a fragile flower. She was something quiet. Something absolute. Something that made even the Golden Lion hesitate. Victoria turned around. The "Little Sister" vanished. The "Teacher" returned.

"The books are read. The egg is waiting. The sisters have spoken. There is nothing left to teach." She pointed at the bed.

"Sleep, Hathaway. I have forged the weapon. Tomorrow, you go to war."