Chapter Text
By the time Azul was delivered inside his own office, he had already understood that dignity was a concept one could only ever preserve through careful schedules, leverage, and strategically planned retreat. Unfortunately for Azul, however, Jade and Floyd had never once shown proper respect for any of those things.
The moment the door closed behind them, Floyd gave him one last careless push toward the chair behind his desk. At the same time, Jade moved with such perfect, courteous calm that anyone unfortunate enough not to know him might mistake the gesture for politeness rather than what it truly is. An ambush, that is. Azul caught himself against the edge of the desk, adjusted his glasses with two of his fingers, and sat down only because refusing would make the situation look more like a kidnapping than it already did.
Floyd, almost immediately, leaned over the desk, elbows planted among Azul’s carefully arranged papers, chin in his palm and sharp teeth showing in a grin that had made more than one Mostro Lounge customer reconsider a late payment. Jade, naturally, chose the opposite side, standing just behind Azul’s chair with his hands folded neatly behind his back, his smile as pleasant and empty as a polished knife.
The twins had him surrounded with all the subtlety of a pair of moray eels circling around injured prey, and Azul, who had known the two since childhood and therefore had no reason to be frightened by theatrics alone, still felt the beginnings of a headache settle behind his eyes.
“Really,” Azul said, folding his hands atop his desk because giving either of them the satisfaction of seeing him flustered would only encourage further loss of any withstanding dignity. “If you two have abandoned the Lounge merely to stare at me, I must inform you that I charge for private meetings.”
“Ooh, that’s mean, ‘Zul,” Floyd said, though he looked delighted rather than the false offense he was trying to imply. His grin widened, and he tilted his head so sharply that the movement would have looked painful and slightly uncanny had he been anyone else. “We were worried, y’know. Headmage calls you up outta nowhere, doesn’t bother sayin’ what for, and then you come back makin’ that face.”
Azul’s smile sharpened by a fraction. “What face, exactly, Floyd?”
“The one where you are pretending as if you weren’t thinking ten or more things at once,” Jade supplied smoothly. “A most familiar expression, certainly, but somewhat more pronounced today. I confess, it piqued my curiosity greatly.”
“Your curiosity is piqued by moss growing on a wall, Jade.”
“Only if the moss is substantially interesting.”
“It ain’t ever interesting,” Floyd muttered, flicking the corner of a document with one finger before Azul snatched it out from under him. “Mushrooms are weird enough. Don’t start with moss too now.”
Azul placed the document in a safer pile and looked between them. The fact that Floyd was already complaining about Jade’s fungi obsession was, unfortunately, not unusual enough to be distracting. “Did either of you at least remember to ensure the Lounge was being monitored before staging this interrogation, or should I expect to find a line of unpaid bills and three broken tables when I return? Hmm?”
Jade placed a hand over his chest, expression feigning innocence. “Azul, I am wounded. Naturally, I informed Ruggie that we would be stepping away for a short while.”
“Shark Sucker’s fine,” Floyd added, waving a hand. “He likes money too much to let the place burn down before payday.”
“That is not the standard of management I prefer to have maintained at my workplace.”
“‘S a good standard to have,” Floyd argued. “Reliable. Shark Sucker sees one customer try ‘n run without paying and he turns into a ‘hole different beast. Kinda fun to watch, actually.”
Azul exhaled slowly through his nose. “I assume, then, that you are not leaving until I tell you what happened.”
“Nope,” Floyd said cheerfully.
“I would prefer not to phrase it so… rudely,” Jade said, which meant exactly the same thing. “However, yes.”
Azul leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he considered them. Dragging the matter out would only continue to make them more unbearable, and keeping secrets from Jade and Floyd was never a simple matter. Especially when they could read the shape of his evasions as easily as he could numbers in an account ledger. Besides, this particular information would travel across campus within days, if not mere hours, because Night Raven College had all the discretion of a flock of startled seagulls. If the twins heard a version distorted through rumors first, he would never hear the end of it.
“Headmage Crowley summoned every student who has Overblotted,” Azul said at last, voice even. He watched them carefully over the rim of his glasses, because it would not do to look away from either twin when giving them a new piece of information to dissect. “The Board of Directors has arranged for a therapist to begin meeting with us. Group therapy, specifically. Attendance is not exactly optional if we wish to avoid further intervention, and our education.”
For a moment, the office became very quiet. Floyd stopped tapping his fingers against the desk. Jade’s smile did not disappear, but something behind it sharpened, all attention narrowing on Azul with the predatory stillness that most people only saw a second too late. Azul resisted the absurd urge to fill the silence with explanation. He would not defend himself to his own vice housewarden and Floyd as though therapy were an accusation.
Then Floyd blinked and said simply, “Took ‘em long enough, honestly.”
Azul stared at him, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”
“I must agree with Floyd,” Jade said, sounding almost regretful, which was one of his more dangerous tones. “Though I must admit, I had hoped you might reach such a conclusion yourself before the Headmage resorted to outside assistance.”
Azul’s brows rose. “You had hoped I might reach such a conclusion myself.” He repeated.
“Yes.”
“You two were discussing my need for therapy behind my back?”
Floyd snorted, leaning further over the desk as though this were obvious. “We discuss lotsa stuff behind your back, Zuzu. You’re real fun to talk ‘bout.”
“That is not in the least reassuring.”
“It was hardly malicious,” Jade said, smiling with the delicate patience of someone explaining table manners to a particularly stubborn child. “Merely practical. You have a tendency to treat rest and your most basic needs as a negotiable indulgence, emotional distress as an error, and personal vulnerability as though it were a poorly worded clause in a contract. At a certain point, even we begin to notice a pattern.”
Azul’s expression remained perfectly composed. “How… touching. I had no idea the two of you held such a flattering opinion of me.”
Floyd hummed, unbothered. “C’mon, don’t get all prickly. We’re not sayin’ you’re broken or anything. You just get weird when people try ‘n help you. And ‘s not even the fun kind of weird where Jade smiles all creepy lookin’ an’ I wanna squeeze someone.”
“Floyd,” Jade said lightly,” you want to squeeze someone regardless of Azul’s emotional state.”
“Yea, but it gets worse.”
Azul pressed two fingers to his temple, unable to decide whether the warmth beneath his ribs was irritation, embarrassment, or something more dangerous. It was always more difficult when Jade and Floyd were sincere in their own twisted way. If they mocked him, he could mock them back. If they threatened people on his behalf, he could scold them. If they worried, however, Azul was left with very little that felt safe to hold.
“Your concern,” he said after a moment, “is noted. That does not mean I intend to discuss the details of my mental state while you loom over me like some sea monsters.”
“Sea monsters,” Jade repeated, pleased.
“Sea monsters,” Floyd echoed, seeming even more pleased.
Azul immediately regretted the wording. “Do not become attached to that.”
“Far too late,” Floyd said, grinning widely.
“You were already a menace. The new title changes nothing.”
Jade chuckled softly, and for all that Azul would never admit it aloud, the sound did ease some of the tension that was kept throughout his muscles. It was strange, having the meeting reduced to something that could be held between the three of them without any sort of ceremony. In the Headmage’s office, therapy had sounded like a sentence handed down by an authority that wanted to keep its reputation intact. Here, surrounded by his documents and the two eels who had loved him long before he learned how to make himself valuable, it became annoying instead of unbearable.
Floyd tilted his head again, mismatched eyes narrowing with sudden interest. “Who else got dragged in?”
“Riddle, Leona, Vil, Jamil, Idia, Malleus, and myself,” Azul said. “The expected list.”
Floyd’s grin turned wicked. “That room ‘s gonna explode.” He laughed.
“It will not explode,” Azul said automatically, though the image immediately presented itself in vivid detail. No one can deny that it will surely be chaotic. Azul paused, reconsidered, and added, “At least, not literally, I hope.”
“Metaphorically, then,” Jade said. “How absolutely exciting.”
“Do not sound so entertained by my suffering.”
“Oh, but Azul,” Jade said, smile blooming wider, “your suffering is often extremely educational.”
Azul gave him a flat look. “I see. Shall I add an observation fee to your next paycheck?”
“That would defeat the purpose of a paycheck.”
“Then consider it a deduction for harassment.”
Floyd laughed, bright and sharp, before pushing off the desk and circling around Azul’s chair with restless energy. “So who’s the shrink? Some old stuffy guy? A big scary Board puppet? Does he look squeezable?”
“He is called Brunel Madris,” Azul said. “And no, Floyd. You are not squeezing him.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna squeeze.”
“I know enough.”
Jade hummed thoughtfully. “Brunel Madris. A name worth looking into.”
“I anticipated that reaction,” Azul said, retrieving one of the documents Floyd had disturbed and aligning it neatly with the rest. “However, there is no need for either of you to involve yourselves.”
“No need?” Jade asked.
“None.”
“Azul,” Floyd said slowly, with exaggerated suspicion. “Are you hiding somethin’ fun?”
“I am meeting with Idia-san tomorrow,” Azul said, and allowed himself the smallest smile when both twins’ expressions shifted at once. “Knowing him, he has already performed a far more thorough background check than either of you could accomplish on such short notice without alarming half the school.”
Floyd squinted. “Firefly Squid?”
“Idia Shroud, yes.”
“You’re meeting Firefly Squid tomorrow,” Floyd repeated, drawing out the words like he was testing them for poison. “For therapy stuff?”
“No. For Thaunopoly.”
Jade’s smile returned, slower this time and far more amused. “My, my.”
Azul looked at him at once. “Do not.”
“I have said nothing.” He said. “I am simply pleased to hear you have recreational plans.”
Floyd draped himself over the back of Azul’s chair, chin nearly landing on top of Azul’s head before Azul leaned forward to avoid him. “You’re gonna go play board games with him? Alone?”
“It is hardly unheard of for members of the Board Game Club to play board games.”
“Uh-huh.” Floyd’s grin turned sly. “And he asked you?”
Azul’s pen paused above the page he was writing on. He should have known that detail would matter more to them than the Board-mandated therapy. “He had access to a pre-release version of the newest Thaunopoly expansion and invited me to try it. I accepted for tomorrow because I had work to complete today.”
“You declined him today,” Jade murmured.
“I was, am, busy.”
“And then immediately offered tomorrow?”
“That is how rescheduling usually works, Jade.”
“Of course.”
Floyd made a long, obnoxious sound of interest that Azul chose to ignore for the sake of everyone’s continued survival. The twins exchanged a look over his head, and Azul did not like that look in the slightest. It had too many teeth in it, and not all of them were visible.
“If you two intend to make this strange, I will rescind your dessert privileges for a week.”
“Rude,” Floyd said, but he was still grinning.
“Unnecessary,” Jade added. “We are only happy for you.”
“That,” Azul said, “is precisely what worries me.”
The rest of the evening did not become less troublesome so much as it became troublesome in ways Azul could predict, which was at least marginally preferable. Jade and Floyd extracted what little further information Azul was willing to offer, speculated with unnecessary enthusiasm about the first therapy session’s potential casualties, and eventually allowed themselves to be expelled from his office when Azul threatened to assign them both to inventory. Floyd left complaining that Azul had become boring after all, while Jade wished him a restful evening in a tone that suggested he knew perfectly well Azul had no intention of resting. It was, unfortunately, one of the many things Jade knew too well.
////
Saturday arrived with the false promise of leisure. Azul had told Idia he would be free in the afternoon, and when he had said it, he had believed it. That was the important part. A few hours of paperwork in the morning, a review of the weekend schedule, one brief check of the Lounge’s inventory, and then he would remove himself from the premises like a responsible person with social plans. It was a sensible arrangement, elegant in its simplicity, and therefore doomed from the beginning.
The Lounge performed too well. That was the problem. A restaurant owner should never complain about some strong weekend traffic, healthy reservations, and a profitable lunch rush. Still, by one o’clock, Azul had discovered three supplier discrepancies, two incorrectly logged ingredient costs, and one truly offensive mistake in the beverage sales report. By two, he had removed his gloves and set them beside the inkwell. By three, he had promised himself he would leave after one more folder. By four, the left stack of papers had shrunk impressively, and Azul was still behind his desk with his sleeves pushed neatly to his forearms, correcting numbers that should have been correct before they reached him.
He was halfway through rewriting a note to the kitchen staff when his office door opened without so much as a knock. Azul didn’t look up as he felt two pairs of eyes look at him.
“Azul,” Jade said.
Azul finished the sentence, placed a period at the end with unnecessary precision, and only then lifted his gaze. Jade stood in the doorway with his polite smile arranged perfectly in place. Floyd lurked just behind him, visibly irritated, his arms crossed and one foot tapping against the floor with enough force to threaten the carpet.
“Yes?” Azul asked.
Floyd pointed at Jade as though presenting evidence in court. “Tell him mushrooms don’t belong in dessert.”
Azul stared. “Pardon?”
“An intriguing opening argument, Floyd,” Jade said, stepping into the office. “However, I believe you will find that Azul prefers proposals supported by research, market strategy, and profit potential.”
“I got research,” Floyd snapped. “My research says it sounds nasty!”
“That is not research.”
“It’s better than whatever fungus fever you’ve got goin’ on.”
Azul closed his eyes. He could feel the headache returning like a loyal customer. “Before either of you continues, I would like to ask why this discussion requires my immediate attention at four o’clock in the afternoon.” He asked calmly.
“Because Jade wants to put damned mushrooms in cake!” Floyd burst out, throwing his hands up as his voice rose in obvious irritation.
Jade’s smile remained serene. “A honey cake with a delicate infusion of wild mountain mushrooms, balanced with cream and a bitter caramel glaze. It would be seasonal, visually distinctive, and quite memorable.”
“It’d be memorable because everyone would remember gettin’ betrayed by cake.”
“Floyd, many refined ingredients possess earthy undertones.”
“Dirt,” Floyd said.
“Earthy.”
“Dirt.”
“Complex.”
“Dirt.”
“Nuanced.”
“Still dirt.”
Azul placed his pen down. He did not slam it. Slamming it would imply that the twins had successfully dragged him down to their level, and Azul had standards even when surrounded by lunacy. “Jade, while I admire your enthusiasm for turning your personal hobbies into revenue streams, I am not approving a mushroom dessert without testing, pricing, and a clearer sense of customer demand. Floyd, while your eloquence is as breathtaking as ever, repeating ‘dirt’ does not constitute culinary critique.”
Floyd pointed at him next. “See? Even Azul thinks it’s weird.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is what you meant.”
“I assure you, Floyd, when I intend to insult Jade’s menu proposals, I am perfectly capable of doing so with precision.”
“How reassuring,” Jade said, smile sharpening. “Then perhaps you will allow me to present the full concept before Floyd attempts to bury it in the nearest trench.”
“No,” Floyd said immediately. “Don’t let him. He’ll start talkin’ about spores.”
“Fungi reproduce through spores, Floyd. This is not forbidden knowledge.”
“It damn should be.”
Jade turned to him with a look of delicate disappointment. “You wound me, dear brother. To think I have shared a womb with someone so unwilling to appreciate nature’s quiet elegance.”
Floyd’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”
“My apologies,” Jade continued, not sounding sorry at all. “I merely find myself wondering, on occasion, how different life might have been if I had eaten you before birth.”
For once, Floyd went completely still. Azul, who had been reaching for his glasses, stopped halfway through adjusting them. Jade stood in the center of the office with the mild, pleasant expression of someone commenting on the weather, and the silence that followed was so absolute that even the muted noise of the Lounge below seemed to retreat out of respect for the horror of the sentence.
Then Floyd said, very softly, “Say that again.”
Jade tilted his head. “Must I? I thought I was quite clear.”
“You wanna find out what happens when I bite you now?”
“In that scenario, Floyd, you would still be the one who had failed to survive. I was only observing that the matter might have resolved itself efficiently.”
“Efficiently?” Floyd repeated, voice rising. “Azul, he said efficiently.”
“I heard him,” Azul said.
“You hearin’ how crazy he sounds?”
“I have been hearing that for several years.”
Jade placed a hand over his chest. “How cruel. I offer one hypothetical reflection on prenatal resource competition and am immediately slandered.”
“That is not what we are calling it,” Azul said.
“It’s called bein’ a freak!” Floyd barked.
“It is called biology.”
“It’s called I’m gonna wring you out like a wet towel!”
The argument unraveled with impressive speed. Jade defended the artistic and culinary potential of mushrooms with the calm persistence of a man lecturing before an academic society. Floyd countered by declaring that Jade’s taste buds had been “ruined by mountain air” and that no customer came to Mostro Lounge hoping their cake would taste like something scraped off a log. Jade, in turn, reminded Floyd of three separate menu items Floyd had proposed purely because he found them amusing to prepare, none of which Azul had approved without modification. Floyd accused Jade of wanting to turn the dessert menu into a terrarium. Jade suggested Floyd’s palate had the refinement of a startled seagull. Floyd threatened to throw him into the aquarium.
Azul remained seated for the first few minutes because there were battles one had to choose carefully, and stepping between Jade and Floyd over mushrooms felt like an undignified way to lose his sanity. Unfortunately, the debate soon shifted to whether Ruggie could be bribed into judging the dessert, whether Savanaclaw students counted as a reliable focus group if promised free food, and whether “edible” and “profitable” were truly the same category. Azul intervened only to state, firmly, that Ruggie Bucchi would not be given unilateral authority over the Mostro Lounge dessert menu, as Ruggie would eat nearly anything if the price was right and possibly if the price was wrong but the portion was large enough.
“That’s why he’s perfect,” Floyd argued. “Shark Sucker’s honest.”
“Ruggie is economical,” Azul corrected.
“Same thing.”
“It is absolutely not the same thing.”
Jade hummed, considering. “He does have a keen understanding of value. Perhaps we could ask him to rank the dish based on whether he would pay for it himself.”
“He would attempt to negotiate the price down to zero.”
“Then we would receive useful information about perceived market resistance.”
Azul gave him a long look. “Jade.”
“Yes, Azul?”
“No.”
Jade’s smile did not falter. “Noted.”
It was absolutely not noted. Azul knew that expression. It meant Jade had simply moved the idea to a more inconvenient time. He looked toward the clock, intending to calculate exactly how much more work he could finish before leaving, and froze. The hands had moved farther than he expected. Four o’clock had already passed, and with it went the comfortable margin he had left himself before meeting Idia.
Azul stood at once.
Both twins stopped mid-argument. Floyd’s mouth remained open around whatever insult he had been about to fling at Jade. Jade’s eyes flicked from Azul’s face to the clock and then back again, and something deeply smug settled into his smile.
“What?” Floyd asked.
Azul gathered the topmost documents into a clean stack, returned the unsigned reports to the left side of the desk, placed the corrected pages into the drawer, and locked it with a crisp turn of the key. “I am leaving.”
“For Firefly Squid?” Floyd asked.
“For Idia-san,” Azul said, reaching for his gloves before deciding against them. He would be changing out of his dorm uniform first, and there was no point in putting them on only to remove them again. “As I told you yesterday, we agreed to meet this afternoon.”
Jade’s smile widened. “You remembered.”
Azul looked at him sharply. “Of course I remembered.”
“Forgive me. It is only that, when a man says he will complete ‘a few hours of paperwork’ and then remains in his office until four, one begins to wonder whether his social commitments have been devoured by his ledgers.”
Floyd leaned against the desk, all earlier rage abruptly redirected into smug satisfaction. “We thought you were gonna make us drag you out.”
“I would have left sooner if two eels had not stormed into my office to debate fungus cake.”
“Aw, so we helped,” Floyd said.
Azul stared at him. “In what possible interpretation of events?”
“You’re standing up now, aren’t you?”
“That is not causation. That is coincidence.”
Jade moved behind him and, with infuriating gentleness, placed both hands on Azul’s shoulders to guide him toward the door. “Azul, you were not scheduled to work today.”
“I own the establishment.”
“You assigned yourself a day off.”
“I adjusted that assignment based on operational need.”
“You said that six hours ago,” Jade said.
Floyd came up on Azul’s other side and threw an arm around his shoulders, steering him with far less subtlety. “C’mon, Zuzu. Go play your little money game with Firefly Squid before he thinks you ditched him.”
“It is not a little money game. Thaunopoly is a strategic economic simulation with—”
“Little money game,” Floyd repeated.
Azul inhaled. “You are both testing the limits of my patience.”
“How fortunate that you are leaving, then,” Jade said. “A change of scenery may preserve what remains.”
Azul tried to stop at the doorway, but Floyd’s arm tightened just enough to make it clear that escape back to the desk would require more effort than Azul was currently willing to spend. “And what, exactly, will the two of you be doing while I am gone?”
“Running the Lounge,” Jade said.
“Settlin’ the mushroom thing,” Floyd said at the same time.
Azul’s eyes narrowed. “With Ruggie.”
Jade smiled.
Floyd grinned.
Azul wished, not for the first time, that contracts could be used to legally forbid certain facial expressions. “I explicitly said Ruggie was not to determine the future of our menu.”
“Relax,” Floyd said. “Shark Sucker’s just countin’ points.”
“That does not reassure me.”
“We shall include several participants,” Jade said. “A small informal tasting. Nothing binding.”
“Jade.”
“Yes?”
“Nothing binding.”
“Of course.”
“I know what that means when you say it.”
“How perceptive of you.”
Azul looked between them and felt, with sudden and profound clarity, that Crowley’s office had not been the most psychologically damaging room he had entered in the past twenty-four hours. “I understand now,” he said. “Therapy was not mandated because we Overblotted. Therapy was mandated because the universe knew I would be forced to manage the two of you.”
Floyd burst out laughing so loudly that a passing Octavinelle student startled in the hall. Jade looked politely offended, which only made Floyd laugh harder. Azul used the opportunity to step out from under Floyd’s arm and put distance between himself and the office before either twin could recover enough to physically return him to the chair.
“We will behave,” Jade called after him.
“No, you will not,” Azul replied without turning around.
“We’ll behave enough,” Floyd amended.
“That is somehow worse.”
He left them there, still arguing as the office door swung half-closed behind him. By the time he reached the corridor leading toward the dorm rooms, Floyd’s voice had risen again in protest against “gross dirt cake,” followed by Jade’s patient insistence that Floyd’s vocabulary was tragically limited. Azul refused to look back. He had done everything he reasonably could. If Ruggie ended the evening with three plates of mushroom cake, a handful of madol, and the power to influence Mostro Lounge’s seasonal menu, then Azul would deal with that disaster after he had enjoyed at least one recreational activity that did not involve eels.
Changing clothes took less time than escaping the office had. Azul removed his dorm uniform with practiced care and chose pieces that were casual without becoming careless: a fitted black turtleneck, grey dress pants, and a warm wool sweater in a shade muted enough to be elegant rather than soft. He hesitated over his glasses before selecting his second pair, less formal than the ones he wore for Lounge business, and checked his reflection with the sharp scrutiny he usually reserved for contracts. Presentable. Not overdressed. Not underprepared. He would not appear as though he had rushed, even if Jade and Floyd had practically exiled him from his own office.
Only once he was certain everything sat properly did Azul leave his room and make his way toward Octavinelle’s mirror. The familiar dimness of the dorm gave way to the brighter, echoing expanse of the Hall of Mirrors, and Azul adjusted his sleeves as he stepped through, already preparing the apology he would give if Idia had been waiting long. It would be measured, sincere enough to be polite, and framed in a way that did not make it sound as though Azul had lost a battle against his own paperwork.
He stopped just beyond the mirror.
Idia Shroud was indeed waiting in the Hall of Mirrors, shoulders drawn up and blue flames shifting restlessly around his face. He was not alone. Riddle Rosehearts stood with him, arms folded and posture immaculate, speaking with the severe focus that Azul would often use when discussing contracts. Idia looked as though he wanted the floor to open beneath him and swallow him whole.
Azul adjusted his glasses once, smiled with perfect composure, and began walking toward them. Idia noticed him at once, and the way his shoulders dropped in relief was so visible that it was endearing.
“Azul-shi,” Idia said, the name escaping him with the hurried desperation of someone spotting a save point in hostile territory. His flames, which had been wavering nervously between blue and faint pink, brightened by several shades as Azul approached. “You made it. Uhm, not that I thought you wouldn’t! I mean, statistically speaking, there was always a non-zero chance of a side quest spawning and trapping you in Mostro Lounge forever, but–”
“Idia-senpai,” Riddle cut in, not loudly, but with that precise Heartslabyul sharpness that made even his ordinary interruptions sound like the closing of a courtroom gate. “Please try to remain on topic.”
Idia immediately withered. “Right. Topic. Super normal human conversation route. Got it.”
Azul smiled with practiced ease, offering Riddle a polite nod before turning his attention more fully to the situation. “Good afternoon, Riddle-san. I admit, I had not expected to find you here. I hope I have not interrupted anything urgent.”
“On the contrary,” Riddle said, straightening further despite already standing with a posture so correct that Azul suspected it was in open defiance of the human spine. “Your arrival is fortunate. I had intended to speak with you as well, though I was prepared to contact you later if necessary. Since you and Idia-senpai are both here, this simplifies matters considerably.”
“Ah,” Azul said, because that told him almost everything and nothing at once. “How efficient.”
Riddle seemed to accept that as agreement rather than mild caution. “After yesterday’s meeting, Vil-senpai, Jamil, Malleus-senpai, and I agreed that it would be best to settle upon a potential time for the first therapy session before Doctor Madris contacts us. It would be irresponsible to wait until the matter is placed entirely in his hands, particularly when several of us have demanding schedules and the Headmage has, predictably, failed to provide any structural guidance beyond telling us to ‘sort it out ourselves’.”
Azul’s smile became a touch more genuine at that. “Yes, that does sound like Headmage Crowley’s preferred management style.”
“It is not management,” Riddle said. “It is negligence wearing a feathered mask.” He sighed.
Idia made a small strangled noise that might have been laughter attempting to disguise itself as a cough. Azul, out of kindness, did not look at him. Riddle, either because he chose not to notice or because his attention had returned fully to the issue at hand, continued without a pause.
“At present, Vil-senpai is unavailable for most of this week due to prior modeling commitments, and Jamil made it clear that any time selected must not interfere with Scarabia’s dinner preparations unless we wish to invite unnecessary chaos into an already difficult arrangement. Malleus-senpai said he had no objection to several options, though I would prefer not to schedule the first meeting too late in the evening. Starting such a matter when everyone is already tired would only encourage poor conduct.”
“By everyone,” Idia muttered, “you mean Leona-shi.”
“I mean several people,” Riddle said, though he did give a small smile at Idia’s comment. “Kingscholar is merely the most obvious concern.”
Azul hummed, folding one arm across his middle and touching a finger to his chin as though weighing the proposal with the seriousness of a business negotiation. In truth, he was already considering how inconvenient any answer would become once Jade and Floyd learned of it.
If the first session landed at a time that conflicted with a Lounge rush, they would both insist they could handle it, which was rarely untrue and often terrifying. If it landed too late, he would be too tired to properly maintain composure around six other overblot victims and a therapist appointed by the Board. If it landed too soon, he would not have time to gather nearly as much information on Brunel Madris as he would like, though Idia’s existence made that concern less pressing.
“What time are you proposing?” Azul asked.
“Next week, Tuesday after classes,” Riddle replied promptly. “Five o’clock, ideally. That allows enough time for club activities to be avoided or rearranged in advance, does not interfere with most dormitory obligations, and should be early enough that no one can claim fatigue as an excuse before we have even begun.”
“LMAO, you say that like Leona-shi won’t spawn with the fatigue debuff by default,” Idia said before visibly regretting having spoken.
Riddle turned his head. “I am aware Leona-senpai may object.”
“He’d object to free food if someone asked him to walk ten feet for it,” Idia said under his breath, barely audible to most.
Azul gave him a mild look. “Idia-san.”
“What? It’s true. Guy’s whole build is ninety percent sleep resistance and spite.”
“That is not how one describes a classmate in a polite conversation.”
“Does this school have polite conversations?”
Riddle inhaled slowly, clearly reaching for patience with both hands. Azul could almost see the Queen of Hearts’ rules marching behind his eyes in neat, furious rows. “Regardless of how Kingscholar chooses to conduct himself, the rest of us are capable of basic cooperation. Idia-senpai, you have not yet given me a clear answer. Would Tuesday at five be possible for you?”
Idia’s expression twisted into the complicated misery of someone being asked to confirm attendance at his own execution. “I mean, possible? Yeah. Desirable? Huge no. But since the whole thing is mandatory anyway, Tuesday’s fine. There’s a Board Game Club meeting Wednesday, and if I have to do therapy and club on the same day, my social battery will straight-up file for divorce.”
Azul smiled faintly. “How tragic. We must protect the sanctity of your social battery, then.”
“Thank you for respecting my limitations, Azul-shi.”
“You are very welcome.”
Riddle looked between them, and while his expression did not change enough for most people to notice, Azul detected the smallest narrowing of his eyes. It was not suspicious enough to be accusatory, but it carried the same energy. He had seen something and filed it away.
“And you, Azul?” Riddle asked. “Would Tuesday at five present any conflict?”
“None that cannot be managed,” Azul said smoothly. It was not exactly true, but Mostro Lounge existed in a state of perpetual conflict with his schedule, so the answer was functionally close enough. “I will have Jade adjust the shift arrangements accordingly. If Vil-san, Jamil-san, and Malleus-san have already expressed approval, then I see no reason to complicate the matter further.”
“Good.” Riddle’s shoulders relaxed by a nearly imperceptible degree. “That leaves only Kingscholar.”
“Rip,” Idia whispered.
Riddle’s eyes snapped to him. “Shroud.”
“Sorry.”
Azul, who was not sorry in the slightest, hid his amusement behind a courteous smile. “Do you intend to speak with Leona-san yourself?”
“Yes,” Riddle said, with the grim dignity of a knight preparing to cross a battlefield. “I expect he will be unpleasant, but if the rest of us have agreed beforehand, he will have fewer grounds on which to argue.”
“Leona-san does not require grounds to argue,” Azul said. “He merely requires consciousness.”
Idia made another strangled noise.
Riddle looked pained, but he did not disagree. “Then I shall have to be direct. In any case, I will contact everyone once I have his answer. If Kingscholar refuses Tuesday, I will propose Thursday at the same time as the secondary option, though I would prefer not to delay the first meeting too long. The longer this remains unsettled, the more likely Crowley is to intervene in a way that creates additional problems.”
“A terrifyingly sound concern,” Azul said.
“Indeed.” Riddle gave a sharp nod, then glanced toward Idia. “Thank you for answering properly after some effort, Idia-senpai.”
Idia gave a weak thumbs-up. “Bare minimum achievement unlocked.”
Riddle stared.
Azul gently stepped in before Riddle could decide whether that counted as mockery. “We appreciate your initiative, Riddle-san. It is reassuring to know someone is approaching this with proper organization.”
That, at least, seemed to soothe him. Riddle’s expression softened into something closer to satisfaction, though he still looked far too serious for a student discussing an appointment rather than a royal summons. “Someone has to. I will take my leave, then. Enjoy your afternoon, both of you.”
“Thank you,” Azul said.
“Yeah, later,” Idia added, then quickly corrected himself when Riddle’s eyebrow twitched. “I mean, um, goodbye, Riddle-shi.”
Riddle gave one final nod and walked away with determined steps, his small figure somehow carrying the force of a disciplinary committee despite being alone. Azul and Idia watched him go until he turned down the corridor and disappeared from sight. Only then did Idia exhale so dramatically that his entire body seemed to deflate.
“Wheehehe, I survived.”
“Congratulations,” Azul said. “A most flawless victory.”
“Don’t say it like that. You’ll make me imagine Riddle-shi with a Crown of the Tarnished kind of boss health bar.”
“I imagine his would be impressively difficult to deplete.”
“Yeah, but if you break the rules during the fight, he enters phase two.”
Azul laughed quietly, unable to stop himself. Idia glanced at him from behind the fall of his flaming hair, and the pink at the tips deepened at once, though he tried to hide it by turning sharply toward the Ignihyde mirror.
“So, uh,” Idia said, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie with the awkward determination of someone forcing himself through a dialogue choice. “You still wanna come over? For the Thaunopoly thing, I mean. Not that you have to. If the Riddle-event drained too much HP, we can reschedule. Or if the Tweels gave you some kinda debuff before you left, that’s also valid. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if–”
“Idia-san,” Azul interrupted, his tone light but firm enough to cut cleanly through Idia’s spiral. “I would not have come here if I intended to reschedule.”
Idia’s mouth shut. His hair flickered blue, then pink, then blue again, as though it could not decide whether relief or embarrassment had priority. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense. You’re not the type to accidentally show up somewhere.”
“Accident is such an inelegant word.”
“Super on-brand response.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t exactly a compliment.”
“I choose to accept it as one.”
Idia looked at him for a second, then snorted, the sound small and almost startled out of him. It softened his face in a way Azul found himself noticing far too carefully. The sharp angles of anxiety did not disappear, but they loosened enough for something warmer to slip through. Azul had seen Idia cold and mean at S.T.Y.X., seen him brittle with panic, seen him hiding behind language so strange and layered that half the school simply gave up trying to understand him. But there were moments, like this, when his guard dropped just enough to reveal the person beneath all that static: brilliant, strange, painfully sincere, and somehow looking at Azul as though his presence was not merely tolerated, but wanted.
That was dangerous information. Azul carefully folded it away inside himself.
Idia turned toward the Ignihyde mirror and made a quick motion for Azul to follow. “Okay. Cool. This way, then. The dorm might be kinda loud near the common areas because some first-years are grinding a co-op event and screaming about drop rates, but my room’s safe. Like, not safe in the normal-person way, probably, but safe as in no one will perceive us there.”
“How comforting,” Azul said, stepping beside him.
“Perception is the real enemy.”
“I thought reality was the enemy.”
“Reality is the final boss. Perception is more like a recurring mini-boss with an annoying gimmick.”
“One day, I really will need you to provide me with a glossary.”
“I could make you one,” Idia said, and then seemed to realize what he had offered because his hair flushed pink again. “I mean, as a joke. Mostly. Unless you actually want one. Which would be kinda funny, because then I’d have to define, like, ‘skill issue’ in formal terms and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
Azul smiled. “I would pay to see that.”
“You would pay?”
“I did not say how much.”
“Wow. Scammed before the game even starts.”
“Consider it a warm-up.”
They stepped through the Ignihyde mirror together. The shift from the Hall of Mirrors to the dorm was immediate, the Hall of Mirrors’ classic architecture replaced by the cool glow of Ignihyde’s blue fire and machinery.
Azul had visited before, of course, though not often enough for the atmosphere to feel familiar. The dorm always seemed less like a traditional residence and more like the inside of some enormous enchanted device, all sleek surfaces, cold light, quiet humming, and the occasional distant burst of student noise carried through metal corridors. It lacked the warm polish of Mostro Lounge, the theatrical hospitality Azul had built into every corner of his own territory. Ignihyde did not invite. It processed. It observed. It let people disappear into their rooms and remain there undisturbed, which explained a great deal.
A few Ignihyde students glanced up as Idia passed, their eyes widening first at the sight of their Housewarden physically present and then more noticeably at Azul walking beside him. Idia’s shoulders crawled upward at once, and his hair flared faintly at the ends. Azul responded by smiling at the students with the exact polished pleasantness he used on customers who were deciding whether to spend too much money. It worked as intended. The students looked away quickly, though one of them whispered something to another before both pretended to be extremely invested in a tablet screen.
Idia made a noise of despair. “Great. Patch notes are gonna hit the dorm group chat in under five minutes.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Depends. How much do you care about being perceived as lore-relevant?”
Azul considered that. “In a controlled manner, I prefer it.”
“Yeah, well, Ignihyde perception is never controlled. It’s just data mining with social anxiety.”
“Then I shall rely on you to mitigate the damage.”
Idia looked at him with visible alarm. “Me?”
“You are the Housewarden.”
“That doesn’t mean I have admin privileges over gossip.”
“An unfortunate limitation of your office.”
“Right? Finally, someone gets it.”
Despite his complaints, Idia moved quickly once they were inside the dorm proper, guiding Azul away from the more populated common area and into quieter corridors where the hum of technology grew steadier and the voices faded behind them.
Azul observed as they walked, because he could not help himself. Ignihyde’s layout favored efficiency over display, security over charm. Doors responded to Idia before he reached them. Lights adjusted to his presence with subtle shifts. Somewhere behind the walls, systems recognized their Housewarden and opened paths for him without question. It was impressive in a way Azul would never say too freely. Compliments were currency, and one had to spend them wisely, especially with someone who might combust from receiving one too directly.
They eventually stopped before a door that opened with a soft electronic sound. Idia froze for half a second, then whipped around so quickly Azul almost stepped into him.
“Wait,” Idia said, looking suddenly horrified. “Okay, warning. My room is, uh, a room. Like, obviously. But it’s also my base, and I wasn’t expecting a high-level guest inspection, so there might be stuff everywhere. Not gross stuff!” he added quickly, waving both hands. “Just normal stuff. Tech stuff. Game stuff. Cables. Snacks. Maybe one box tower that’s structurally load-bearing and therefore cannot be moved. So if it looks chaotic, that’s because it’s organized by a system incomprehensible to normies. Ortho might return to recharge later.”
Azul looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “Idia-san, I assure you, I have known Jade and Floyd since childhood. My standards for what qualifies as alarming interior organization are not easily shaken.”
“That’s either reassuring or deeply concerning.”
“Both, perhaps.”
“Yeah. Okay. Fair.”
Idia turned back to the door, took a breath as though bracing himself for a boss fight, and stepped inside. Azul followed. The room beyond was dimmer than the corridor, lit primarily by monitors, soft blue flame, and the glow of devices Azul could identify only by category rather than function. It was cluttered, certainly, but not filthy. There were consoles, cables, screens, shelves filled with games and figures, stacks of equipment arranged in ways that likely made sense to Idia and no one else, and an elaborate gaming setup that looked less like furniture and more like a command center for a small nation. A box tower did, in fact, stand near one wall, and Azul had the distinct impression that removing the wrong box might cause a localized disaster.
At the center of it all, placed with surprising care on a cleared table, was Thaunopoly.
Idia noticed Azul looking at it and immediately brightened, nervousness shifting into something sharper and more animated. “There it is. Pre-release build, newest version, expanded rule set, revised property progression, new magical disaster cards, and they finally fixed the broken auction mechanic from the last edition. Took them long enough. The old one was basically exploitable by turn five if you knew what you were doing, which, like, obviously I did, but it still ruined the balance.”
Azul stepped closer, interest catching despite himself. The box art gleamed under the monitor light, elegant and expensive-looking, with metallic lettering and a board design more elaborate than the previous version. “They revised the auction mechanic?”
“Yep. And debt restructuring. And hostile takeovers.”
Azul’s smile widened. “How promising.”
Idia stared at him, then slowly grinned back. “I knew you’d get it.”
For a moment, the awkwardness between them thinned into something easier. Azul set his jacket neatly over the back of a chair, Idia began clearing a space with hurried, fluttering motions, and the room settled around them not as a battlefield or a meeting chamber or a place where anyone had to speak of Overblots, Boards, therapists, or consequences. It was simply Idia’s room, cluttered and glowing and strange, with a board game waiting between them and an afternoon that, for once, Azul had been forcibly prevented from ruining with work.
He sat across from Idia, adjusted his glasses, and folded his hands with serene confidence.
“I should warn you,” Azul said, “I do not intend to lose merely because I am your guest.”
Idia’s flames flared bright blue, his grin turning almost wicked. “Good. Because I was about to say the exact same thing.”