A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 63
She already knew. She had always known that Ilex Davenport was more passionate about her Ontaroan conversation lessons than he was about their graduation exam study group.
He often brought materials she didn’t have for her to memorize, and he shared insights about Ontaroa’s public office recruitment trends she hadn’t been aware of.
No matter how physically robust a person might be, it was impossible for a human to avoid fatigue. It wasn’t as though some divine power had given him extra hours in the day. Therefore, it was clear that he was pouring his limited time and energy into her.
His incomprehensible and inexplicable actions increasingly stirred confusion in Tilia’s heart. Those feelings rolled around inside her chest like an unbreakable egg on sleepless nights, eventually nesting in the corners of her heart and hatching. The hatchlings, loud as chirping baby birds, filled her mind with chaotic questions.
Why? Why is he so kind to me?
If it was her body he wanted, she would have realized it long ago. If he wanted her to be his mistress, he’d had plenty of opportunities to suggest it. Yet throughout the months they spent walking together between night and dawn, Ilex never once laid a finger on her.
He acted as if he were meticulously avoiding repeating a past mistake, as though he was intentionally ensuring he didn’t harbor any sexual intentions.
Recalling those days when he worked hard to conceal any hint of such thoughts, the questions pressing down on her became even heavier. While feeling suffocated by the weight, she vaguely realized something.
The reason she had felt an overwhelming sense of crisis earlier, at the lakeside in the cold wind, when he threw sparks that seemed to threaten to burn her life to the ground, was because hot oil had already been poured onto her heart.
The realization of her feelings clawed at her throat, lingering like a hook that caught in her voice.
She couldn’t bear it anymore. Even if her entire being was set ablaze, she didn’t care. She had to ask. She had to know. As though compelled by an irresistible fate, she opened her lips.
“Go to Ontaroa.”
The man, with eyes like a fog-shrouded sea, spoke in a voice steeped in sorrow.
“Go there… and live your true life.”
The moment to ask her question was stolen, leaving Tilia staring blankly up at him.
Was it a valid assumption, or just an idle hope, that he seemed to be agonizing intensely between desire and reason?
“That’s what you’ve always yearned for, isn’t it? So…”
He continued with difficulty and smiled dryly, “Tilia. First, go to Ontaroa.”
As he finished speaking, his fervent gaze fixed on her. In her eyes, a castle built of imaginary bricks appeared.
The familiar scene through the transparent windows framed by white curtains remained unchanged. A modest house filled with belongings she had earned herself. Inside, she sat comfortably, sipping warm tea with a serene expression. But just then, another silhouette appeared beyond the window where she had once been content alone.
A man who gazed at her with affectionate eyes and smiled gently. The man—whose gray-blue eyes were the same as those now staring at her with intensity.
***
The hours, minutes, and seconds that had once raced past the graduating class of the Royal Academy now crawled like a turtle as the second exams approached.
With shadows under their eyes and on their hearts, they endured the excruciating period of patience. And at last, as the final page of the calendar fell like the last leaf on a tree, the long-awaited day of the second exams dawned.
“T-Tilia.”
Judy’s trembling hands, which had been shaky since the previous night, now shook violently as if she were plagued by an illness.
“Will I… w-will I do well?”
Tilia, who had been gazing at the exam hall with a determined expression, smiled gently and placed a reassuring hand on Judy’s shoulder.
“Of course. What are you worried about? Just do it the way we practiced.”
But the encouragement had the opposite effect. Like a fragile branch tormented by fierce winter winds, Judy burst into tears.
“What are you saying? I failed every time in practice! Because of you and Ilex Davenport!”
The pale-faced graduates passing by the building glanced at the sobbing Judy as if she were a ghost.
“N-no, Judy.”
Caught between lifeless peers and her nearly neurotic friend, Tilia hurried to calm her down.
“Think about it. Since practice was hard, the real thing will be easier, right? Besides, you always beat Mackenzie Fitz during practice.”
“What good is beating Mackenzie?” Judy roared in fear. “That guy repeated graduation six times—six times! And today he’ll probably fail for the seventh time! Beating someone like him in a debate is no different from beating a kindergarten kid…”
“Judy Wells.”
It was while she sat on the stairs, blowing her nose, that one of the group members—the same one who, like her closest friend, had spent the entire semester driving her into the depths of despair—appeared.”
As always, with his composed face, it was Ilex Davenport, the top student.
“Stop whining and get up. It’s time for the exam.”
However, it seemed even he wasn’t immune to the weight of the exam; if one looked closely, faint shadows could be seen under his eyes. Tilia, staring at him in curiosity, heard his sharp voice.
“How long do you plan to keep holding onto that?”
Startled by his uncharacteristically irritable tone, her eyes widened as their gazes met. But he quickly returned to his usual impassive expression, only to turn his head and focus on Judy again.
“S-sorry.”
Under his gaze, Judy hurriedly got up and grabbed Tilia’s hand.
“I’ve been whining too much. I’m sorry. It’s not like I’m the only one taking the exam…”
“No, it’s fine. I even woke you up last night because of my nightmare, so don’t worry.”
Tilia patted her friend’s back as Judy fidgeted nervously, then turned to face forward. Harsh as it sounded, he was right. It was time to step into the judgment hall.
Tilia looked at the dark entrance of the main building, where black-clad examinees were being drawn in like shadows.
Taking a deep breath, she spoke, “Let’s go.”
***
‘This is…’
Tilia’s face stiffened as she looked at the number etched on the red ball she had drawn. When she raised her head, she saw Ilex and Judy staring at her with expressions even more frozen than her own.
In line with the principles of fairness and equality declared by the academy’s founder, all aspects of the Royal Academy’s graduation exams were determined randomly. This included the debate topics, team compositions, assigned positions for or against the topic, and even the order of presentations. As a result, no one could predict the outcome until they entered the exam hall.
The first event was to determine the order of presentations. A drawing ceremony involving transparent glass boxes filled with red balls was held in a lecture hall with all the examinees present. The numbers engraved on the balls drawn by the seniors varied: Team 1, Team 20, Team 8, and…
“Cecilia Clayton, Team 32.”
Team 32.
When Cecilia Clayton drew Team 32 and her face contorted, Tilia had to slightly lower her head to hide the involuntary upward curve of her lips.
Team 32 was the last slot in this year’s second exam—a position every examinee wanted to avoid. The reason wasn’t merely the long hours of tension while waiting; the real issue lay in the examiners’ waning focus.
Unlike written tests, where objective evaluations of correct and incorrect answers were possible, oral exams inevitably involved a degree of subjectivity. Consequently, the condition of the examiners became a significant factor in debate evaluations. Tired and fatigued evaluators could hardly be expected to remain fully impartial.
The three panels of judges, each composed of five members, had to evaluate ten to eleven debates. The final debates often began well past dinnertime, by which point the examiners were running on sheer willpower.
Efforts to address this issue included increasing the number of evaluators for the second exams. However, even after numerous discussions on grading standards, having additional judges only led to higher failure rates in certain teams, ultimately leading to the solution being abandoned. The consensus was that fairness could only be maintained if the same evaluators graded all debates.
Therefore, when Cecilia drew Team 32, Tilia couldn’t help but admire the fairness of the draw.
Even someone who had been lucky their entire life could draw the worst lot.
She was mentally applauding the founder’s brilliant insight when her turn came.
“Tilia Ambrose.”
She stood leisurely and approached the transparent box, slipping her hand inside.
Whatever comes out, I’ll accept it. Nothing could be worse than Team 32, after all.
But the moment she saw the number on the ball she had drawn with a calm heart, she immediately retracted her admiration for the founder.
Brilliant insight, my foot. Fairness, my ass. Relying on chance for fairness is just the laziest method imaginable.
“Tilia Ambrose.”
As Tilia irritably placed the ball down, the announcer called out her number.
“Team 32.”
Now it was Cecilia Clayton’s turn to twitch her lips. Unlike Tilia, who lowered her head, Cecilia didn’t even bother trying to hide her smirk.
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Maya Loureiro
agora de fato, ele ultrapassou o patamar de Per-se-gui-Dor – é mais complexo que isso – ele sabe o que ela jamais externalizou antes, simmmm de fato ele sabe além do natural!!