It started as a forfeit.
A trivial little forfeit.
"Loser has to run out and touch the academy gate."
But they say men never really grow up, no matter how old they get.
What began as something trivial gradually started to escalate in scale.
"Loser buys lunch?"
"Whoever's late tomorrow has to wipe down the training hall."
"Lowest score on the exam has to give the professor a gift!"
The bigger the stakes grew, the more we developed a taste for forfeits,
and before long, the whole game had shifted from who would lose to who could come up with the most creative punishment.
Eventually, someone spoke up as if to end the debate once and for all.
"This is absolutely the last one."
The last person stuck with a forfeit had gotten fed up and decided to go all in.
"Rock-paper-scissors. Loser has to carry out the forfeit."
Simple as it was, for those of us who'd stopped caring about the bet itself and were now entirely focused on the forfeit, it was a perfectly clean solution.
Everyone who'd grown tired of the whole thing agreed.
"So what's the forfeit?"
The one who'd proposed this final round spoke with the confidence of someone who'd already made up his mind.
"Confessing to Elline."
Silence.
"…?"
"Come on, that's a bit much…"
"This guy's crossing a line."
Under normal circumstances, a forfeit was something you laughed off and accepted. But this one had apparently gone too far—the mood turned sour.
"Hey, forfeits are supposed to stay between us. How does dragging someone else into it make any sense?"
"Exactly. What did Elline ever do to deserve this?"
The moment public opinion swung toward rejection for the first time, the proposer's face visibly faltered.
'Pick something else.'
'How about fifty laps around the academy drill grounds instead?'
The conversation was already drifting toward a different topic entirely—but maybe it was pride.
He must have figured that having a forfeit vetoed for the first time in all our history of bets, and specifically because of his idea, would make him the butt of jokes for the rest of his life.
So he doubled down.
"Scared?"
"…"
"…"
A simple word. But an effective one.
That single line made the others glance around at each other.
"Scared? Well, yeah, obviously you'd be scared—confessing to Elline of all people, right?"
The proposer seized the opening and started needling them.
"Hey, it's a one-in-five chance. As long as it's not me, we're fine."
As long as it's not me. Couldn't be simpler.
And he wasn't wrong.
They wanted the thrill, and the logic of "as long as it's not me" was perfectly sound.
"Hmm… come to think of it, I haven't lost in a while."
"Rock-paper-scissors? I'm in. If you're scared, just sit it out."
"Wow, you sure you won't regret this? I was trying to give you guys an out."
The childish pride of academy students with heads too big for their own good—and they caved far too easily.
"Hey, but shouldn't we keep it between—"
Before anyone could stop it,
"If you don't throw, you lose!"
The proposer shouted like he couldn't stand to hear another word.
A loud, unified cry rang out,
and five hands came together in one spot.
As if someone had scripted it,
four rocks and one pair of scissors came into view.
A roughly two-percent probability situation.
"Got him!!!!!"
"Yeahhhhh!!!!"
The four who'd been spared threw their arms around each other in celebration,
"…Oh."
while the one who'd thrown scissors could only stare at his own fingers in disbelief.
And that was me.
* * *
Third year at the academy.
The age when heads are as big as they're going to get, and everyone's place in the world has more or less been decided.
Those with real promise were already exchanging messages with various parties, securing positions or preparing to climb higher. Those who'd come to terms with their limits were simply passing the time with an eye toward graduation.
I was firmly in the latter camp.
Put kindly, I had no rough edges. Put less kindly, I was utterly unremarkable.
The kind of person who'd one day be lumped into the vague "many seniors before you" line at some future enrollment ceremony.
That was me. Rutess.
Third year in the magic department, sure—but no particular standout ability to speak of, and stuck in the support branch, which wasn't exactly the field where you made a name for yourself.
So I'd expected a perfectly uneventful… academy life.
"The bet is the problem."
I walked down the corridor, glaring resentfully at my two fingers.
Why did I have to see those flowers shaped like scissors right at that moment? Spreading all five fingers is so much easier and more natural—why on earth did I only extend two?
"Don't look so miserable, Rutess. You should've thrown something else."
"Right. If you'd thrown paper, you would've beaten all of us."
The not-quite-comforting voices of my two friends barely registered.
"Thanks. Really."
I shouldn't have gotten swept up in this bet in the first place.
We'd come into third year craving some kind of thrill, so we'd started with small bets and worked our way up to forfeits.
But the energy had spiraled out of control, and we'd agreed to end it all with one final round.
And the glorious recipient of that final forfeit was me.
To make it worse, the forfeit was simultaneously the simplest and the most brutal one yet.
Confessing to Elline.
"Why Elline, of all people?"
I looked at Ross, the one who'd proposed it. He shrugged.
"Because I figured she'd definitely turn you down."
"You little—"
"Careful. Swearing on academy grounds is a demerit."
Ross grinned that infuriating grin of his and wagged a finger.
"Joking. It just popped into my head. Maybe it was divine inspiration."
His blond hair resting on those round glasses was always annoying, but today I had a particular urge to grab every strand and pull.
"Who knows? Maybe she'll say yes."
At Ross's offhand suggestion of hope, Edgar beside him let out a good-natured laugh.
"That'd be its own kind of problem."
Ross burst out laughing at that.
"Not a chance. Don't worry."
Either way, it wasn't their problem—which was exactly why they could talk about it so casually.
I, the one actually involved, was in a thoroughly foul mood.
"I was against this from the start. Forfeits should stay between us. What's the point of dragging someone else into it?"
Morally speaking, what we were doing wasn't great. We'd essentially used a bet as an excuse to pull a third party into something without her consent.
Ross offered a flat apology.
"You're right, that part was wrong. Sorry."
This guy.
"Then cancel it—"
"That I can't do."
Figured.
The pointless argument came to an end when we reached the far end of the long academy corridor.
At the foot of the marble staircase, the three of us parted ways—different departments, different directions—with a wave.
"Good luck."
"I'm coming back in three days with a lie detector, so get it done before then."
The two of them watched me go, tossing their parting shots with matching smirks.
I nodded in response instead of answering. I had nothing to say.
Because my head was already a mess.
'Elline…'
Did I know who Elline was? Of course I did.
A classmate I'd seen for two years.
That one sentence barely scratched the surface of who she was, but as a description of our relationship, it was exactly right.
We'd never had any reason to cross paths.
And now I had to confess to this girl whose face I knew and nothing else.
"Wow. A confession."
The first confession of my life… well, no, not quite. I'd done it once before.
I knew, of course, that confessing to someone without any real feelings was wrong.
But even so, the fact that Ross had specifically singled out Elline from everyone else made his particular brand of cruelty very clear.
And only three days to do it.
Brutally short—though, thinking about it, maybe shorter was better.
The longer it dragged on, the more I'd hesitate.
'Better to just do it and get it over with.'
And the timing was lucky, too. It happened to be a Friday.
The one liberal arts class where our schedules overlapped—mine and Elline's, Alpha Class and all.
'The gods have set the stage.'
With that thought, I walked down the corridor for a few minutes,
and finally spotted the lecture hall for the liberal arts class.
I pushed open the door. The large room already had students scattered about in small clusters.
Being a third-year liberal arts class, these were all faces I'd long since grown tired of seeing—but even with those I wasn't close to, I exchanged light nods or brief greetings as I passed.
Then I turned and looked toward the familiar corner seat by the window.
'There she is, as expected.'
She was there.
The sunlight streaming through the window made her silver hair catch the light in a way that stood out, and her blue eyes moved in small, quiet increments as she read.
Elline Pailless.
Even in third year, no one seemed to approach her—the seats around her were empty, as if cleared by some unspoken agreement.
But Elline herself didn't seem to mind. She simply read in silence.
From a distance, it looked like a painting.
Up close, it was something closer to a tragedy.
It was spring, and yet somehow the air around her felt colder than the rest of the room.
"Hmm…"
I hesitated.
If I sat down next to her now, every eye in the room would be on me.
That wasn't what I wanted.
Because it would be embarrassing.
'Why's he suddenly going over to Elline?'
I didn't want that kind of attention.
'Better to talk to her after class.'
With that thought, I looked away.
"Alright, everyone, good to see you. Week two already."
Fortunately, the professor's entrance swept away my scattered thoughts, and I was able to focus entirely on the lecture.
Or so I told myself.
'I can't focus at all.'
Unfortunately, my brain had other ideas.
Like how the harder you try not to think about an elephant, the more it fills your mind—
I kept turning over how I was supposed to say it to her.
Why did I keep agonizing over this?
I could just go in and say it.
That was all I needed to do.
'I like you. Go out with me.'
One line. Done.
Knowing Elline's personality, she'd probably look at me like I'd lost my mind and ignore me entirely.
Either way, the confession would be made, and the forfeit would be over.
But for some reason my leg kept bouncing, and my fingers kept tapping against the desk.
'Hmm.'
Maybe I had some kind of condition. Confession-induced trembling disorder or something.
Come to think of it, I'd confessed once before.
Got cleanly rejected that time too.
'Was it really that clean?'
Thinking about being turned down twice in a row left a distinctly bitter taste.
Maybe I should try to make the line sound good, at least.
'HiEllineI'velikedyoueverfromthefirstmomentIsawyouIwantedtoconfessbeforegraduationbutIwastoobigofacowardback—'
No. Definitely not.
Nothing decent was coming to mind.
While I was busy agonizing, the professor's lecture rolled on without a care.
I'd always wished for class to end faster, but today was the one day I would have welcomed extra time. Supplementary sessions, review sessions, anything.
Because if not now, there was no other chance.
But I also desperately didn't want that moment to come.
"Alright."
The professor swept a glance over us and smiled that same warm smile as always.
"Good work today, everyone. Tomorrow's the weekend, isn't it? Get some rest and I'll see you next week!"
Any other day, I'd have leapt out of my seat the moment this liberal arts class ended.
Not today.
'So it's finally here.'
I breathed in. Breathed out. My muscles and nerves seemed to know what their owner was about to do—they began warming up in earnest.
Please don't do this, I'm begging you—
That's what it felt like they were signaling. But what could I do.
The sound of students cheerfully flooding out of the room thundered in my ears like hoofbeats.
I recalled the breathing technique Professor Ruila always made us practice before combat magic class whenever she demanded composure.
Once.
Twice.
Exhale.
'That helps.'
Thank you, Professor Ruila.
I turned my head—and met Elline's eyes.
The breathing technique is completely useless, Professor.
But our eyes had already met. The die was cast.
She quickly looked away and began gathering her things,
but I pushed back my chair and walked toward her.
One step at a time, slowly, up the aisle.
Elline knew perfectly well there was no exit door at the back of the lecture hall. She naturally stopped moving and turned to look at me again.
"…"
"…"
Our eyes met.
With only a desk and a table between us.
I noticed it then—she was beautiful.
Her appearance… yes, that too, but calling it that felt like too cheap a description.
It was more that her presence was beautiful.
Up close, those eyes were alive, and the faint movement of her cheek and the drift of her hair gave her a vividness that the distance had hidden.
And then I realized one more thing.
I had no idea how to start talking to her.
As the silence stretched, the look in her eyes as she watched me began to shift.
Not in a good direction.
"…What?"
A clear voice, but flat and utterly indifferent.
"Did you need something?"
"…Oh, uh—"
Oh, uh, he says.
Is this guy an idiot?
No—now wasn't the time to fight with myself.
I breathed again. Slowly. Steadily.
"Hey, Elline…"
"Actually."
She cut me off. Cleanly, precisely.
The sound of a chair scraping. I looked at her again.
Her expression had barely changed, but her eyes were readable.
Irritated.
"If it's not important, can I go? I'm busy."
She said it like there was nothing left to discuss, already tucking her book away and preparing to leave.
…
Right. There was no way I could go through with this forfeit.
What happened if I didn't complete it again—a year of doing whatever they wanted, wasn't it?
Maybe I should just take that. This is too hard.
'A year… of whatever they want…'
Elline turned away without a second thought, gave me one last glance out of the corner of her eye, then withdrew her gaze and started walking.
The sound of her footsteps reached my ears.
"I like you, Elline."
I said it.
"I went back and forth on it for a long time, but I wanted to say it."
The words had come out on their own, without thinking.
"Go out with me."
The second confession of my life.
It was a confession made to the back of someone already walking away.